^.^r      -'-,.r         r'J 


MACAULAY  jfe,  4;^  4*- 

ESSAfS'ON-ADDISONAND-MlLTON 


ESSAYS     ON 
ADDISON     AND     MILTON 


T.    B.    MACAULAY. 


MACAULAY'S    ESSAYS 


ON 


Jt 


ADDISON  AND  MILTON 


Edited  with  Notes 

BY 

HERBERT   AUGUSTINE   SMITH,  Ph.D. 

INSTRUCTOR    IN    ENGLISH    IN    YALE   COLLEGE 


BOSTON,  U.S.A. 
GINN    &    COMPANY,    PUBLISHERS 

1900 


Copyright,  1896,  by 
HERBERT  AUGUSTINE  SMITH 


Copyright,  1898,  by 
HERBERT  AUGUSTINE  SMITH 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


iu 


•  •2.       ••^/•••c»«  y 


PREFACE 


In  the  preparation  of  this  little  volume  the  editor  has  had 
in  mind  the  needs  of  two  different  classes  of  students, 
intending  it  both  for  school  and  for  college  use.  In  conse- 
quence, the  notes  are  not  quite  what  they  would  have  been 
had  they  been  made  for  either  class  alone.  Some  of  them 
will  seem  to  a  college  Freshman  or  Sophomore  unneces- 
sarily elementary;  while  the  school  teacher  may  find  the 
allusions  to  contemporary  history  and  literature  unneces- 
sarily full,  and  implying  a  knowledge  somewhat  beyond  that 
of  his  pupils. 

Nevertheless,  the  editor  trusts  that  its  usefulness  has  in 
neither  case  been  impaired.  It  does  not  take  much  experi- 
ence with  a  college  class  to  discover  the  possibilities  of 
ignorance  there ;  it  is  unsafe  to  assume  a  general  knowledge 
of  anything  not  required  by  the  entrance  examination,  and 
no  seed  of  information  can  be  too  elementary  to  drop 
somewhere  into  virgin  soil.  On  the  other  hand,  every 
school  contains  a  considerable  percentage  of  boys  who  are, 
in  general  information  and  wider  reading,  far  ahead  of  their 
fellows.  It  does  no  harm  to  provide  for  the  needs  of  these 
boys  ;  and  the  skillful  teacher  will  find  the  utilization  in  the 
class-room  of  their  knowledge  an  efficient  aid  to  the  instruc- 
tion of  their  less  intelligent  companions. 

The  vital  question  in  preparing  a  work  of  this  kind  is,  of 
course,  how  to  make  the  study  both  instructive  and  stimu- 
lating.    Some  of  our  friends  are  telling  us  that  we  are  in 


IV 


PREFACE. 


danger  of  making  English,  as  taught  in  the  schools,  and 
perhaps  in  the  colleges,  lifeless  and  pedantic,  and  so  of 
doing  more  harm  than  good.  Such  an  essay  as  the  one 
before  us  is,  they  say,  first  of  all  literary.  No  sane  man 
sits  down  for  the  purely  literary  enjoyment  of  a  literary 
work  with  a  formidable  armament  of  dictionaries,  encyclo- 
paedias, literary  histories,  and  other  books  of  reference 
piled  in  front  of  him,  ready  at  the  first  glimpse  of  a  proper 
name  which  conveys  a  vague  meaning,  or  none  at  all,  to 
hunt  the  intruder  down  and  dispatch  him  by  committing  to 
memory  the  dates  of  his  birth  and  death.  Why,  then,  should 
we  require  our  boys  and  girls  to  read  Macaulay  with  one 
finger  in  the  notes?  Such  a  method,  we  are  told,  is 
destructive  of  all  literary  enjoyment  and  literary  taste,  and 
fails  equally  of  securing  an  intelligent  comprehension  of  the 
substance  of  what  is  read,  since  the  attention  is  distracted 
by  the  pursuit  of  irrelevant  details.  "They  can't  see  the 
woods  for  the  trees." 

It  may  be  said,  in  the  first  place,  that  an  intelligent  and 
well  educated  reader  does  use  reference  books  in  connection 
with  his  reading.  If  he  is  confronted  with  a  word  in  his 
own  language  which  gives  him  no  meaning,  he  reaches  for 
his  dictionary ;  if  he  finds  his  geography  deficient,  he  is 
pretty  likely  to  get  out  his  atlas.  He  does  these  things  for 
two  reasons.  His  mind  is  alert,  and  seeking  all  the  time 
to  grasp  the  essential  meaning  of  what  he  reads;  if  he 
fails  to  grasp  it,  he  feels  himself  baffled  and  puzzled,  and 
knows  he  has  lost  a  part  of  the  enjoyment  of  the  author. 
Further,  he  wishes  to  increase  his  general  knowledge.  The 
best  informed  persons  are  just  those  who  are  most  eager  to 
be  better  informed. 

It  is  highly  desirable  that  boys  and  girls  should  early 
learn  the  use  of  books  of  reference.  The  best  part  of  an 
education  is  that  which  is  gained  after  one  has  learned  to 


PREFACE.  V 

go  alone ;  a  well  stored  mind  comes  only  from  a  lifetime  of 
acquisition.  School  and  college  can  do  no  more  than  get 
people  ready  to  take  entire  charge  of  their  own  education ; 
and  they  must  train  them  to  be  acquisitive — capable  of  enlarg- 
ing, and  anxious  to  enlarge,  their  stores  of  information.  The 
habit  of  using  books  of  reference  is  certainly  a  very  important 
one  for  the  teacher  to  inculcate.  But  the  habit  cannot  be 
developed  by  insisting  that  the  pupil  shall  look  up  every 
unknown  word,  every  proper  name,  every  chance  allusion. 
The  boy  who,  reading  that  Addison's  "  knowledge  of  the 
Latin  poets,  from  Lucretius  and  Catullus  down  to  Claudian 
and  Prudentius,  was  singularly  exact  and  profound,"  goes 
for  his  classical  dictionary  and  looks  up  Lucretius,  Catullus, 
Claudian,  and  Prudentius,  with  the  result,  very  likely,  of 
announcing  to  his  teacher  the  next  day  that  they  are  "  all 
Latin  poets,"  has  not  got  very  far  beyond  his  neighbor  who 
took  Macaulay's  word  for  it.  Nor  would  it  have  helped 
him,  had  his  notes  informed  him  that  "  Lucretius  was  a 
celebrated  Latin  writer,  famous  as  the  author  of  the  De 
Rerum  Natura,  a  philosophical  didactic  poem  in  six  books." 
The  result  of  annotating  on  such  a  plan  as  this  is  that  the 
notes  are  usually  skipped. 

The  thing  that  the  pupil  wants  is  the  author's  meaning. 
To  get  this,  his  attention  must  be  concentrated  on  what  he 
reads.  He  certainly  cannot  read  intelligently,  if  his  first 
endeavor  is  to  carry  in  his  memory  various  unrelated  facts 
recorded  in  the  notes — a  kind  of  bead  exercise,  with  the 
text  for  string.  But  neither  can  he  read  intelligently  what 
he  does  not  understand.  One  great  trouble  is  that  he  is 
very  apt  to  be  reading  mechanically  from  the  start,  because 
he  is  preparing  a  lesson.  Perhaps,  too,  he  has  never 
learned  to  read  carefully,  word  by  word,  but  only  skims  the 
surface;  his  reading  has  been  children's  books,  light  fiction, 
and  the  newspapers  ;  the  ideas  which  reach  his  brain  are 


vi  PREFACE. 

faint  and  swiftly  passing  shadows.  Therefore  he  must 
grapple  with  every  sentence,  and  make  it  yield  him  a 
meaning  —  clear,  definite,  well  grasped.  To  such  a  process 
every  new  name  and  uncomprehended  allusion  opposes  an 
obstacle.  His  previous  light  reading  has  not  called  for 
concentrated  effort ;  it  is  hard  to  keep  his  plough  in  this 
heavier  soil,  and  at  the  slightest  obstruction  it  leaps  quite 
from  the  furrow,  and  scratches  along  on  top.  So  the  connec- 
tion is  broken  and  the  attention  dispersed.  Granted  that  the 
intellectual  exertion  necessary  to  grasp  the  meaning  word 
by  word  may  consume  all  the  mental  energy  available, 
leaving  the  reader  powerless  to  carry  the  thought  connec- 
tion or  to  read  with  literary  appreciation,  it  still  remains 
true  that  a  sentence  which  conveys  no  meaning  can  neither 
add  to  knowledge  nor  give  pleasure.  The  child  in  his  first 
reading  lessons  halts  and  stumbles,  and  finds  all  his  energies 
absorbed  in  the  effort  to  recognize  and  pronounce  the 
words ;  but  he  will  never  learn  to  read  except  by  repeating 
the  process  until  the  mind  learns  to  do  mechanically  what 
now  absorbs  all  the  attention.  So  with  the  schoolboy. 
Plodding  is  hard,  but  it  is  only  by  plodding  now  that  he 
will  eventually  be  able  to  do  something  better  worth  while. 

In  annotating  this  essay  for*  school  use,  the  editor  has 
sought  to  adapt  the  notes  to  three  ends.  They  aim  in  the 
first  place  at  helping  the  pupil  to  grasp  the  sense  of  the 
text.  And  as  there  is  a  great  difference  between  reading 
and  studying  an  essay,  and  as  the  discipline  and  increased 
power  which  study  is  intended  to  result  in  can  be  gained 
only  by  somewhat  close  application,  the  sense  which  the 
pupil  should  try  to  grasp  is  the  sense  of  each  sentence  and 
each  word.  In  this  connection  it  should  be  said  that  no 
attempt  has  been  made  to  provide  a  substitute  for  the  dic- 
tionary, which  should  be  resorted  to  whenever  its  use  is 
necessary.     The  second  object  of  the  notes  is  to  make  the 


PREFACE.  Vii 

Study  additionally  profitable  by  imparting  such  general 
information  connected  with  the  substance  of  the  essay  as 
the  preparatory-school  student  may  reasonably  be  expected 
to  be  interested  in,  and  to  remember.  Here  again  the  line 
has  been  drawn  in  the  case  of  many  things  which  the 
editor,  but  not  the  teacher,  should  assume  that  "  every 
schoolboy  knows."  And,  finally,  they  seek  also  to  interest 
the  reader  in  literature  by  familiarizing  him  with  the  liter- 
ary history  of  the  time,  and  stimulating  him,  under  the 
helpful  direction  of  his  teacher,  to  take  up  in  the  way  of 
outside  reading  some  of  the  writings  of  Addison  and  his 
contemporaries. 

One  thing  the  editor  feels  very  strongly,  and  that  is  the 
importance  of  a  knowledge  of  English  history  in  any  study 
connected  with  its  literature,  and  the  appalling  ignorance 
of  it  which  is  often  to  be  found  even  among  fairly  well 
educated  people.  The  Essay  on  Addison  is  a  historical 
essay,  and,  though  its  history  is  mainly  literary  history,  it 
calls  for  an  acquaintance  with  the  important  political  events 
of  the  time.  No  teacher  should  fail  to  supply  to  his  class, 
before  beginning  the  essay,  an  outline  of  English  history 
from  1685  to  1719,  including  the  dates  of  accession  of 
William  and  Mary,  Anne,  and  George  I.,  and  to  see  that, 
with  the  aid  of  the  notes,  Macaulay's  references  are  always 
clearly  understood. 

In  college  classes  it  is  thought  that  this  book  may  be 
serviceable  in  two  ways.  It  may  be  used  for  auxiliary 
reading  in  connection  with  class-room  study  of  Addison,  or 
it  may  be  used  as  the  starting-point  for  a  study  of  the  liter- 
ary history  of  the  time.  For  this  purpose  the  notes  have 
been  prepared  with  a  good  deal  of  care,  and  will,  it  is 
trusted,  be  found  correct,  —  or  as  nearly  so  as  conscientious 
labor  can  reasonably  hope  to  make  them.  The  editor  would 
be  indeed  presumptuous  to  think  of  laying  down  methods  for 


viii  PREFACE. 

teachers  of  advanced  work;  yet  he  may,  perhaps,  be  permitted 
to  suggest  that  a  student  who  wishes  to  study  closely  Addi- 
son and  his  time  may  find  it  worth  while  to  take  to  pieces, 
as  it  were,  such  an  essay  as  Macaulay's,  and  hunt  up  the 
evidence  on  which  each  statement  rests.  A  close  comparison 
of  the  present  essay  with  the  corresponding  ones  of  Thackeray 
and  Johnson,  and  with  Mr.  Courthope's  '  Life  of  Addison ' 
in  the  English  Men  of  Letters  Series,  followed  by  a  tracing 
back  of  the  various  facts  recorded  in  these  to  their  origins, 
may  serve  to  somewhat  advanced  students  as  an  introduc- 
tion to  a  thorough  and  intimate  knowledge  of  the  writers 
who  flourished  in  the  days  of  Queen  Anne. 


LIFE   OF   MACAULAY. 


Thomas  BaBington  Macaulay  was  born  at  the  home  of 
his  father's  brother-in-law,  Thomas  Babington,  at  Rothley, 
in  Leicestershire,  on  Oct.  25,  1800.  His  early  home  was  in 
the  suburbs  of  London.  His  father,  the  son  of  a  Scotch 
minister,  had  lived  for  some  years  in  the  British  West  Indies. 
Having  learned  from  practical  experience  what  slavery 
meant,  he  resigned  the  lucrative  position  which  his  abilities 
had  won,  and  returned  to  England  to  join  the  little  band  of 
devoted  philanthropists  who  were  fighting  to  put  an  end  to 
the  slave-trade,  and  to  abolish  slavery  in  the  English  depend- 
encies.    Macaulay  was  his  oldest  child. 

The  boy  gave  early  evidence  of  unusual  powers.  From 
the  age  of  three  years  he  was  a  voracious  reader ;  before  he 
was  eight  he  began  to  amuse  himself  with  such  literary 
labors  as  the  composition  of  epic  and  narrative  poems, 
hymns,  epitomes  of  history,  arguments  for  Christianity.  To 
a  wonderfully  exact  and  ready  memory  was  joined  intellectual 
restlessness  and  imaginative  activity.  His  productions  were 
of  course  worthless  as  literature,  but  they  show  the  bent  of 
the  child's  mind.  He  talked  the  language  of  books ;  the 
world  in  which  he  lived  was  quite  apart  from  that  of  the 
ordinary  schoolboy. 

In  the  outdoor  sports  and  games  of  schoolboys  he  was 
never  proficient.  "  He  could  neither  swim,  nor  row,  nor 
drive,  nor  skate,  nor  shoot."  To  the  end  of  his  life  he 
remained  one  of  the  clumsiest  of  men.     His  gloves  never 


X  LIFE   OF  MACAU  LAY. 

fitted ;  his  clothes  were  ill  put  on  ;  he  could  not  strop  a 
razor,  and  when  he  shaved  he  usually  cut  himself.  Even 
with  this  physical  awkwardness  he  might  in  a  large  school 
have  been  drawn  into  the  life  around  him.  But  his  prep- 
aration for  the  university  was  at  small  private  schools,  so 
that  he  was  never  really  a  boy  among  boys.  He  was  not 
unpopular,  but  he  cared  little  for  anything  but  reading  ;  in 
this  his  activity  was  prodigious.  He  read  with  great  rapidity, 
and  yet  accurately ;  and  the  power  of  his  memory  is  almost 
incredible.  He  could  repeat  long  poems  word  for  word 
after  a  single  reading  ;  he  knew  Paradise  Lost  and  Filgrim's 
Progress  by  heart.  Forty  years  later  he  recalled  and  recited 
two  worthless  newspaper  poems  which  he  had  happened  to 
read  one  day  while  waiting  in  a  coffee-room,  and  had  never 
thought  of  in  the  interval. 

On  his  entrance  upon  university  life,  which  was  at  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge,  in  1818,  the  social  side  of  the  greatest 
talker  of  his  generation  began  to  develop.  Macaulay  had 
never  been  a  mere  bookworm ;  even  at  school  he  had  been 
distinguished  for  the  vehemence  and  self-confidence  of  his 
conversation,  and  the  pleasure  he  took  in  it ;  and  contem- 
porary politics  had  always  had  the  keenest  interest  for  him. 
At  his  father's  house  he  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  public 
affairs  discussed  by  men  of  distinguished  ability,  who  were 
themselves  intimately  concerned  in  them,  and  who  were  at 
the  same  time  actuated  only  by  high  and  unselfish  motives, 
moral  earnestness,  and  devotion  to  duty.  In  this  school 
Macaulay  had  received  his  early  training,  and  he  never  forgot 
its  principles.  Important  questions  were  now  pressing 
forward  in  English  politics.  Hostility  to  the  excesses  of  the 
French  Revolution  and  the  struggle  against  Napoleon  had 
given  a  lease  of  life  to  British  conservatism  which  was  now 
nearly  run  out.  Roman  Catholics  were  still  disqualified 
from  holding  office ;   Parliament  was  unrepresentative  and 


LIFE   OF  MACAU  LAY.  XI 

under  the  control  of  the  landowners  —  the  aristocracy ; 
grain  was  kept  dear  in  the  interests  of  a  class,  by  unjust 
taxation.  But  the  agitation  for  reforms  had  already  begun. 
And  in  literature  and  religion  as  well  a  liberalizing  spirit 
was  at  work.  Everywhere  new  ideas  were  in  conflict  with 
old  forms  —  the  nineteenth  century  against  the  eighteenth. 
Surrounded  as  he  was  by  a  society  of  brilliant  contemporaries, 
and  in  the  ferment  of  the  new  life  which  was  working  in  the 
universities,  Macaulay,  with  his  well-stored  mind  and  his 
exhaustless  intellectual  energy,  found  here  opportunity  for 
the  free  play  and  full  expansion  of  his  powers.  Macaulay 
was  eminently  a  sociable  man.  He  loved  to  talk  almost  as 
well  as  he  loved  to  read.  He  could  talk  all  day  and  all 
night.  No  hour  which  found  him  a  listener  was  ever  too 
late ;  and  if  his  companion  wished  his  share  of  the  time, 
they  both  talked  at  once.  It  was  not  until  many  years  later 
that  he  acquired  the  habit  of  intermittent  "  flashes  of  silence," 
which  Sydney  Smith  noted  as  so  delightful.  His  extraordi- 
nary fertility  of  mind  and  readiness  of  memory  made  him 
incomparable.  He  was  never  at  a  loss  for  an  argument. 
Everything  that  he  had  ever  read  seemed  at  the  end  of  his 
tongue ;  his  mind  could  range  in  an  instant  through  his  vast 
storehouse  of  information,  and  bring  to  the  front  whatever 
bore  on  the  question  in  hand.  If  he  wished  to  illustrate  the 
use  of  a  word,  he  seemed  to  be  able  to  quote  offhand  every 
passage  containing  that  word  which  he  had  ever  read,  —  it 
made  no  difference  whether  it  was  Latin,  Greek,  or  English. 
It  was  no  wonder  that  a  man  of  such  powers  should  have 
won  for  himself  a  foremost  place  as  a  conversationalist  and 
an  orator,  as  well  as  in  literature. 

His  career  at  the  university  was  signalized  by  the  aca- 
demic honors  which  he  won.  His  scholarship,  it  is  true,  was 
not  of  the  kind  which  loves  to  delve  in  details  or  range  about 
abstractions.     He  disliked  and  neglected  mathematics,  and 


Xll  LIFE   OF  MACAU  LAY. 

he  defined  a  scholar  as  one  who  reads  Plato  with  his  feet  on 
the  fender.  But  in  182 1  he  proved  the  quality  of  his  classi- 
cal attainments  by  carrying  off  a  Craven  scholarship,  and 
twice  he  won  the  Chancellor's  medal  for  English  verse. 
Finally,  in  1824,  he  was  elected,  after  the  usual  competitive 
examination,  one  of  the  Fellows  of  his  college. 

His  first  distinguished  literary  success  was  in  1825,  and 
it  was  obtained  by  the  publication  of  the  Essay  on  Milton. 
Already  he  had  begun  to  appear  in  print,  having  contributed 
a  number  of  articles  and  some  verse  to  a  newly  started  and 
short-lived  London  quarterly.  But  the  Edinburgh  Review^ 
which  printed  the  Essay  on  Milton,  was  the  most  important 
periodical  in  the  country.  The  Essay  was  immediately 
recognized  as  the  work  of  a  new  and  brilliant  writer,  and 
Macaulay  became  a  regular  contributor  to  the  Review.  At 
the  same  time  he  was  pursuing  the  study  of  the  law,  though 
with  little  interest  and  no  expectation  of  making  it  seriously 
his  profession.  It  is  said  that  "he  never  really  applied 
himself  to  any  pursuit  that  was  against  the  grain,"  and  the 
law  was  not  to  his  taste.  But  politics  were ;  and  in  1830 
he  entered  the  House  of  Commons  as  member  for  Calne. 

For  the  next  seventeen  years  literature  held  only  a  second 
place  in  his  thoughts.  His  speeches  on  the  Reform  Bill  in 
1 83 1  placed  him  at  once  in  the  front  rank  of  parliamentary 
orators,  and  contributed  largely  to  the  success  of  the 
measure.  Had  he  been  free  to  follow  the  bent  of  his  own 
inclinations,  he  might  perhaps  have  risen  to  a  position 
second  to  none  of  the  great  leaders  of  his  party.  But  his 
poverty  hampered  him.  His  father's  business,  good  when 
Macaulay  entered  the  university,  had  gone  from  bad  to 
worse,  until  at  last  there  was  nothing  of  it  left  but  debts, 
which  Macaulay  most  honorably  assumed  and  at  last 
completely  paid.  His  writing  could  be  depended  on  for  a 
small  income,  but  it  drew  upon  his  time.     As  long  as  his 


LIFE   OF  MACAU  LAY.  xiii 

party  was  in  power  he  was  sure  of  office  and  a  salary,  but  it 
fettered  liis  independence.  At  this  juncture  an  opportunity 
presented  itself  which  enabled  him,  by  banishing  himself 
from  England  for  a  few  years,  to  earn  a  sum  sufficient  to 
yield  him  a  comfortable  income  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  He 
was  appointed  a  member  of  the  Supreme  Council  of  India, 
and  early  in  1834  he  left  England  to  enter  upon  his  new 
duties  as  one  of  the  five  English  rulers  of  a  great  empire. 

The  summer  of  1838  saw  him  back  in  London.  In  his 
new-found  leisure  he  began  to  plan  his  History  of  England. 
But  his  services  were  too  valuable  to  his  party  to  admit  of 
his  remaining  in  private  life.  Within  a  year  he  was  elected 
to  Parliament  again  as  one  of  the  members  for  Edinburgh, 
and  soon  after  was  taken  into  the  Cabinet  as  Secretary  of 
War.  Macaulay  was  an  ardent  Whig,  and  always  ready  to 
do  battle  for  his  party.  He  was  soon  relieved  from  the  cares 
of  office,  however,  by  the  success  of  the  Tories  in  1841,  and 
though  he  continued  to  sit  as  one  of  the  representatives  of 
Edinburgh,  he  was  for  the  most  part  free  to  press  forward 
the  preparation  of  his  greatest  work.  Five  years  later  he 
again  held  office  for  a  short  time,  but  in  the  elections  of 
1847  he  lost  his  seat  in  Parliament,  and  withdrew  from  public 
life.  In  1852  he  refused  a  place  in  the  Cabinet ;  and  though, 
in  the  same  year,  yielding  to  the  wishes  of  his  former 
constituents  at  Edinburgh,  who  were  anxious  to  make  amends 
for  his  earlier  defeat  and  were  proud  of  so  distinguished  a 
representative,  he  again  entered  Parliament,  he  never  after- 
wards took  a  prominent  part  in  the  country's  business.  All 
his  strength  was  given  to  the  History. 

In  1848  the  first  two  volumes  appeared.  Its  success  was 
unprecedented.  Macaulay  had  proposed  to  himself  to  write 
a  work  which  should  "  supersede  the  last  fashionable  novel 
on  the  tables  of  young  ladies."  The  History  proved  to  be 
the  most  popular  book  of  its  generation,  both  in  England 


XIV  LIFE  OF  MA  CAUL  AY. 

and  America.  In  his  own  country  three  thousand  copies 
went  in  ten  days,  —  a  record  surpassing  anything  since 
Waverley,  nearly  forty  years  before  ;  and  four  months  later 
a  New  York  publisher  informed  Macaulay  that  there  were 
six  editions  on  the  market,  with  probabW  sixty  thousand 
copies  sold,  adding,  "  No  work,  of  any  kind,  has  ever  so 
completely  taken  our  whole  country  by  storm."  The  next 
two  volumes,  published  in  1855,  were  still  more  popular. 
Within  three  months  his  publishers  paid  him  ;^2 0,000  in  a 
single  check.  With  pecuniary  reward  came  also  the  honors 
that  belonged  to  the  first  English  historian  of  his  day.  In 
1849  he  had  declined  the  professorship  of  modern  history  at 
Cambridge.  In  1853  he  was  elected  a  foreign  member  of 
the  Institute  of  France,  and  the  king  of  Prussia  named  him 
a  knight  of  the  Order  of  Merit.  Learned  societies  all  over 
Europe  made  him  of  their  number ;  he  held  high  offices  at 
the  universities  of  Glasgow  and  Cambridge  ;  and  in  1857  he 
was  elevated  to  the  peerage,  as  Baron  Macaulay  of  Rothley, 
Not  content  with  making  himself  the  most  popular  and 
influential  essayist  and  historian  of  his  time.  Lord  Macaulay 
had  aspired  also  to  the  poet's  laurels.  In  1842  he  had 
published  his  well-known  Zays  of  Ancient  Ro?ne.  Full 
of  fire  and  spirit,  of  rapid  movement,  vigor,  and  stateliness, 
they  are  as  characteristic  of  their  author  as  are  his  speeches 
or  his  History.  Macaulay  was  not  a  poet  of  the  kind  of  the 
greatest  poets  of  our  century.  His  imagination  was  rather 
historic  than  poetic ;  one  of  the  tenderest-hearted  of  men, 
his  feeling  was  social  and  sympathetic  rather  than  lyric  and 
impassioned  ;  his  delight  was  in  objective  activity,  not  in  the 
companionship  of  his  own  moods  ;  he  loved  the  life  of  men 
better  than  the  life  of  nature  ;  he  was  not  an  instinctive 
master  of  the  secrets  of  the  human  heart.  But  he  had  the 
power  of  making  the  past  seem  present  to  him.  He  moved 
in  other  days  or  lands  as  easily  as  his  own  ;  London  became 


LIFE   OF  MACAU  LAV.  XV 

at  will  the  London  of  Queen  Anne  or  the  capital  of  the 
Caisars.  He  could  reconstruct,  from  the  material  which  his 
great  reading  supplied,  all  the  life  and  color  and  movement 
of  generations  dead  and  gone.  The  Lays  of  Ancient 
Rome  are  not  H^ere  rhetoric  in  verse ;  they  move  us  like 
martial  music  and  the  tread  of  marching  men  ;  they  are 
genuine  poetry,,  though  not  of  the  kind  which  our  age  values 
most. 

Lord  Macaulay's  life  had  always  been  intense.  "  When  I 
do  sit  down  to  work,"  he  said  of  himself,  "  I  work  harder 
and  faster  than  any  person  that  I  ever  knew";  and  he 
played  as  hard  as  he  worked.  His  tremendous  intellectual 
energy,  always  active,  and  always  applying  itself  in  power- 
fully concentrated  effort,  had  begun  to  wear  out  his  body. 
In  1852  had  developed  serious  trouble  with  his  heart,  and 
he  never  regained  perfect  health.  As  the  History  progressed, 
he  applied  himself  to  his  task  with  increasing  difficulty  ;  after 
the  publication  of  the  second  instalment  his  waning  strength 
compelled  him  to  resign  his  seat  in  Parliament;  the  fifth 
volume  he  did  not  live  to  see  in  print.  Toward  the  close 
of  the  year  1859  his  weakness  grew  upon  him,  and  on 
December  28th  death  came,  suddenly  but  painlessly,  as  he 
sat  in  his  easy  chair  with  open  book  beside  him.  He  was 
buried  in  Westminster  Abbey,  near  to  Johnson  and  Addi- 
son, —  the  great  representative  prose  writer  of  the  first  half 
of  the  nineteenth  century  beside  the  two  great  essayists  of 
the  eighteenth.  ^ 

The  most  conspicuous  trait  in  Macaulay's  character,  the 
trait  which  appears  in  all  that  he  did,  is  his  vigor,  his  energy 
of  intellect.  He  is  a  kind  of  nineteenth-century  Dr.  John- 
son, made  fit  for  the  drawing-room.  But  where  Johnson 
was  lazy,  he  was  active  ;  where  Johnson  was  melancholy,  he 
was  cheerful ;  where  Johnson  was  weak,  he  was  strong. 
His  exhaustless  capacity  for  work,  his  incessant  intellectual 


XVI  LIFE   OF  MACAU  LAY. 

activity,  —  he  read  with  impartial  avidity  everything  from  the 
hardest  Greek  tragedy  to  the  last  bad  novel,  —  his  wonder- 
ful powers  of  memory,  his  brilliant  conversation,  his  diversi- 
fied interests  and  varied  literary  production,  all  attest  the 
same  trait.  He  wasted  on  trifles  the  intellectual  force  of 
\  half  a  dozen  ordinary  brains. 
^  It  is  not  strange  that  such  a  man  should  have  been  one 
of  the  most  forcible  writers  that  ever  held  a  pen.  Every 
sentence  is  crisp,  clear,  and  strong.  The  boy  or  girl  who 
studies  Macaulay's  style  is  taking  a  composition  tonic.  It 
is  the  best  remedy  that  can  be  prescribed  for  the  diifuseness 
and  inaccuracy  of  thought,  loose  and  ineffective  sentence- 
structure,  and  feeble  use  of  words,  that  beset  the  average 
untrained  writer.  Clearness  and  force  in  thinking,  speaking, 
•  and  writing  are  the  qualities  best  worth  cultivating.  "  The 
first  rule  of  all  writing,"  said  Macaulay,  "  that  rule  to  which 
every  other  is  subordinate,  is  that  the  words  used  by  the 
writer  shall  be  such  as  most  fully  and  precisely  convey  his 
meaning  to  the  great  body  of  his  readers."  It  is  a  rule 
which  we  may  well  make  our  motto.  The  teacher  who 
makes  the  best  use  of  Macaulay  will  not  fail  to  direct 
continual  attention  to  the  style. 


i       i      3         3 
J       5        J       J 


THE  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  ADDISON, 

(EDINBURGH  RE  VIEW,  JULY,  1843.) 


Some  reviewers  are  of  opinion  that  a  lady  who  dares 
to  publish  a  book  renounces  by  that  act  the  franchises 
appertaining  to  her  sex,  and  can  claim  no  exemption  from 
the  utmost  rigor  of  critical  procedure.  From  that  opinion 
we  dissent.  We_adm.it,  indeed,  that  in  a  country  which  5 
boasts  of  many  female  writers,  eminently  qualified  by  their 
talents  and  acquirements  to  influence  the  public  mind,  it 
would  be  of  most  pernicious  consequence  that  inaccurate 
history  or  unsound  philosophy  should  be  suffered  to  pass 
uncensured,  merely  because  the  offender  chanced  to  be  a  10 
lady.  But  we  conceive  that,  on  such  occasions,  a_  critic 
would  do  well  to  imitate  the  courteous  knight  who  found 
himself  compelled  by  duty  to  keep  the  lists  against  Brada- 
mante.  He,  we  are  told,  defended  successfully  the  cause 
of  which  he  was  the  champion;  but  before  the  fight  began,  15 
exchanged  Balisarda  for  a  less  deadly  sword,  of  which  he 
carefully  blunted  the  point  and  edge. 

Nor  are  the  immunities  of  sex  the  only  immunities 
which  Miss  Aikin  may  rightfully  plead.  Several  of  her 
w^orks,  and  especially  the  very  pleasing  '  Memoirs  of  the  20 
Reign  of  James  the  First,'  have  fully  entitled  her  to  the 
privileges  enjoyed  by  good  writers.  One  of  those  privi- 
leges we  hold  to  be  this,  that  such  writers,  when,  either 
from  the  unlucky  choice  of  a  subject  or  from  the  indo- 
lence too  often  produced  by  success,  they  happen  to  fail,  25 


,    :2  THE   LIFE   J  iVD   I VR I  TINGS   OF  ADDlSON. 

shall  not  be  subjected  to  the  severe  discipline  which  it  is 
sometimes  necessary  to  inflict  upon  dunces  and  impostors, 
but  shall  merely  be  reminded  by  a  gentle  touch,  like  that 
with  which  the  Laputan  flapper  roused  his  dreaming  lord, 
5  that  it  is  high  time  to  wake. 

Our  readers  will  probably  infer  from  what  we  have  said 
that  Miss  Aikin's  book  has  disappointed  us.  The  truth 
is,  that  she  is  not  well  acquainted  with  her  subject.  No 
person  who  is  not  familiar  with  the  political  and  literary 

10  history  of  England  during  the  reigns  of  William  the  Third, 
of  Anne,  and  of  George  the  First  can  possibly  write  a 
good  life  of  Addison.  Now,  we  mean  no  reproach  to  Miss 
Aikin,  and  many  will  think  that  we  pay  her  a  compliment, 
when  we  say  that  her  studies  have  taken  a  different  direc- 

15  tion.  She  is  better  acquainted  with  Shakespeare  and 
Raleigh  than  with  Congreve  and  Prior;  and  is  far  more 
at  home  among  the  ruffs  and  peaked  beards  of  Theobald's 
than  among  the  Steenkirks  and  flowing  periwigs  which 
surrounded  Queen  Anne's  tea-table  at  Hampton.     She 

20  seems  to  have  written  about  the  Elizabethan  age  because 
she  had  read  much  about  it;  she  seems,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  have  read  a  little  about  the  age  of  Addison  because 
she  had  determined  to  write  about  it.  The  consequence 
is,  that  she  has  had  to  describe  men  and  things  without 

25  having  either  a  correct  or  a  vivid  idea  of  them,  and  that 
she  has  often  fallen  into  errors  of  a  very  serious  kind. 
The  reputation  which  Miss  Aikin  has  justly  earned  stands 
so  high,  and  the  charm  of  Addison's  letters  is  so  great, 
that    a    second    edition    of   this   work  may  probably  be 

30  required.  If  so,  we  hope  that  every  paragraph  will  be 
revised,  and  that  every  date  and  fact  about  which  there 
can  be  the  smallest  doubt  will  be  carefully  verified. 

To  Addison  himself  we  are  bound  by  a  sentiment  as 
much  like  affection  as   any  sentiment    can  be   which  is 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.  3 

inspired  by  one  who  has  been  sleeping  a  hundred  and 
twenty  years  in  Westminster  Abbey.  We  trust,  however, 
that  this  feeling  will  not  betray  us  into  that  abject  idolatry 
which  we  have  often  had  occasion  to  reprehend  in  others, 
and  which  seldom  fails  to  make  both  the  idolater  and  the  s 
idol  ridiculous.  A  man  of  genius  and  virtue  is  but  a  man. 
All  his  powers  cannot  be  equally  developed;  nor  can  we 
expect  from  him  perfect  self-knowledge.  We  need  not, 
therefore,  hesitate  to  admit  that  Addison  has  left  us  some 
compositions  which  do  not  rise  above  mediocrity,  some  lo 
heroic  poems  hardly  equal  to  Parnell's,  some  criticism  as 
superficial  as  Dr.  Blair's,  and  a  tragedy  not  very  much 
better  than  Dr.  Johnson's.  It  is  praise  enough  to  say  of 
a  writer  that,  in  a  high  department  of  literature,  in  which 
many  eminent  writers  have  distinguished  themselves,  he  15 
has  had  no  equal;  and  this  may  with  strict  justice  be  said 
of  Addison. 

As  a  man,  he  may  not  have  deserved  the  adoration 
which   he   received  from   those   who,   bewitched   by  his   ■ 
fascinating  society,  and  indebted  for  all  the  comforts  of  20 
life  to  his  generous  and  delicate  friendship,  worshiped 
him  nightly  in  his  favorite  temple  at  Button's.     But  after 
full  inquiry  and  impartial  reflection,  we  have  long  been 
convinced  that  he  deserved  as  much  love  and  esteem  as 
can  be  justly  claimed  by  any  of  our  infirm  and  erring  race.  25 
Some  blemishes  may  undoubtedly  be  detected  in  his  char- 
acter; but  the  more  carefully  it  is  examined,  the  more  will 
it  appear,  to  use  the  phrase  of  the  old  anatomists,  sound 
in  the  noble  parts,  free  from  all  taint  of  perfidy,  of  cow- 
ardice, of  cruelty,  of  ingratitude,  of  envy.    Men  may  easily  30 
be  named  in  whom  some  particular  good  disposition  has 
been  more  conspicuous  than  in  Addison.     But  the  just 
harmony  of  qualities,  the  exact  temper  between  the  stern 
and  the  humane  virtues,  the  habitual  observance  of  every 


4  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

law,  not  only  of  moral  rectitude,  but  of  moral  grace  and 
dignity,  distinguish  him  from  all  men  who  have  been  tried 
by  equally  strong  temptations,  and  about  whose  conduct 
we  possess  equally  full  information. 
5  His  father  was  the  Reverend  Lancelot  Addison,  who, 
though  eclipsed  by  his  more  celebrated  son,  made  some 
.  figure  in  the  world,  and  occupies  with  credit  two  folio  pages 
in  the  Biographia  Britannica.  Lancelot  was  sent  up  as 
a  poor  scholar  from  Westmoreland  to  Queen's  College, 

lo  Oxford,  in  the  time  of  the  Commonwealth;  made  some 
progress  in  learning;  became,  like  most  of  his  fellow- 
students,  a  violent  Royalist;  lampooned  the  heads  of  the 
university,  and  was  forced  to  ask  pardon  on  his  bended 
knees.     When  he  had  left  college  he  earned  a  humble^ 

15  subsistence  by  reading  the  liturgy  of  the  fallen  Church  to 
the  families  of  those  sturdy  squires  whose  manor-houses , 
were  scattered  over  the  Wild  of  Sussex.    After  the  Resto-... 
ration  his  loyalty  was  rewarded  with  the  post  of  chaplain  ^ 
to  the  garrison  of  Dunkirk.     When  Dunkirk  was  sold  to 

20  France  he  lost  his  employment.  But  Tangier  had  been 
ceded  by  Portugal  to  England  as  part  of  the  marriage 
portion  of  the  Infanta  Catharine;  and  to  Tangier  Lancelot 
Addison  was  sent.  A  more  miserable  situation  can  hardly 
be  conceived.    It  was  difficult  to  say  whether  the  unfortu- 

25  nate  settlers  were  more  tormented  by  the  heats  or  by  the 
rains,  by  the  soldiers  within  the  wall  or  by  the  Moors 
without  it.  One  advantage  the  chaplain  had.  He  enjoyed 
an  excellent  opportunity  of  studying  the  history  and  man- 
ners of  Jews  and  Mahometans;  and  of  this  opportunity  he 

30  appears  to  have  made  excellent  use.  On  his  return  to 
England,  after  some  years  of  banishment,  he  published  an 
interesting  volume  on  the  'Polity  and  Religion  of  Barbary,' 
and  another  on  the  'Hebrew  Customs  and  the  State  of 
Rabbinical  Learning.'     He  rose  to  eminence  in  his  profes- 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON  5 

sion,  and  became  one  of  the  roy^al  chaplains,  a  Doctor  of 
Divinity,  Archdeacon  of  Salisbury,  and  Dean  of  Lichfield. 
It  is  said  that  he  would  have  been  made  a  bishop  after 
the  Revolution  if  he  had  not  given  offense  to  the  govern- 
ment by  strenuously  opposing,  in  the  Convocation  of  1689,  5 
the  liberal  policy  of  William  and  Tillotson. 

In   1672,   not    long   after    Dr.   Addison's   return   from 
Tangier,  his  son  Joseph  was  born.     Of  Joseph's  child- 
hood   we    know    little.       He    learned    his    rudiments    at 
schools  in  his  father's  neighborhood,  and  was  then  sent  10 
to  the  Charterhouse.      The   anecdotes  which  are  popu- 
larly related   about  his  boyish  tricks  do  not  harmonize 
very  well  with  what  we  know  of  his  riper  years.     There 
remains  a  tradition  that  he  was  the  ringleader  in  a  bar- 
ring out,   and  another  tradition  that  he  ran  away  from  15 
school  and  hid  himself  in  a  wood,  where  he  fed  on  ber- 
ries and  slept  in  a  hollow  tree,  till  after  a  long  search  he 
was  discovered  and  brought  home.     If  these  stories  be 
true,  it  would  be  curious  to  know  by  what  moral  disci- 
pline so  mutinous  and  enterprising  a  lad  was  transformed  20 
into  the  gentlest  and  most  modest  of  men. 

We  have  abundant  proof  that,  whatever  Joseph's  pranks 
may  have  been,  he  pursued  his  studies  vigorously  and 
successfully.  At  fifteen  he  was  not  only  fit  for  the  uni- 
versity, but  carried  thither  a  classical  taste  and  a  stock  25 
of  learning  which  would  have  done  honor  to  a  Master  of 
Arts.  He  was  entered  at  Queen's  College,  Oxford;  but 
he  had  not  been  many  months  there  when  some  of  his 
Latin  verses  fell  by  accident  into  the  hands  of  Dr.  Lan- 
caster, Dean  of  Magdalen  College.  The  young  scholar's  30 
diction  and  versification  were  already  such  as  veteran 
professors  might  envy.  Dr.  Lancaster  was  desirous  to 
serve  a  boy  of  such  promise ;  nor  was  an  opportunity 
long  wanting.     The    Revolution   had  just  taken   place; 


6  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

and  nowhere  had  it  been  hailed  with  more  delight  than 
at  Magdalen  College.  That  great  and  opulent  corpora- 
tion had  been  treated  by  James  and  by  his  Chancellor 
with  an  insolence  and  injustice  which,  even  in  such  a 
5  prince  and  in  such  a  minister,  may  justly  excite  amaze- 
ment, and  which  had  done  more  than  even  the  prosecu- 
tion of  the  bishops  to  alienate  the  CHurch  of  England 
from  the  throne.  A  president,  duly  elected,  had  been 
violently  expelled  from  his  dwelling  ;   a  Papist  had  been 

10  set  over  the  society  by  a  royal  mandate;  the  fellows, 
who,  in  conformity  with  their  oaths,  had  refused  to  sub- 
mit to  this  usurper,  had  been  driven  forth  from  their 
quiet  cloisters  and  gardens  to  die  of  want  or  to  live  on 
charity.     But  the  day  of  redress  and  retribution  speedily 

15  came.  The  intruders  were  ejected  ;  the  venerable 
house  was  again  inhabited  by  its  old  inmates;  learning 
flourished  under  the  rule  of  the  wise  and  virtuous  Hough; 
and  with  learning  was  united  a  mild  and  liberal  spirit 
too  often  wanting  in  the  princely  colleges  of  Oxford.     In 

20  consequence  of  the  troubles  through  which  the  society 
had  passed,  there  had  been  no  valid  election  of  new 
members  during  the  year  1688.  In  1689,  therefore, 
there  was  twice  the  ordinary  number  of  vacancies ;  and 
thus  Dr.  Lancaster  found  it  easy  to  procure  for  his  young 

25  friend  admittance  to  the  advantages  of  a  foundation  then 
generally  esteemed  the  wealthiest  in  Europe. 

At  Magdalen  Addison  resided  during  ten  years.  He 
was  at  first  one  of  those  scholars  who  are  called  demieSj^ 
but  was  subsequently  elected  a  fellow.     His  college    is 

30  still  proud  of  his  name  ;  his  portrait  still  hangs  in  the 
hall;  and  strangers  are  still  told  that  his  favorite  walk 
was  under  the  elms  which  fringe  the  meadow  on  the 
banks  of  the  Cherwell.  It  is  said,  and  is  highly  proba- 
ble, that  he  was  distinguished  among  his  fellow-students 


THE  LIFE   AXD   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.  7 

by  the  delicacy  of  his  feelings,  by  the  shyness  of  his 
manners,  and  by  the  assiduity  with  which  he  often  pro- 
longed his  studies  far  into  the  night.  It  is  certain  that 
his  reputation  for  ability  and  learning  stood  high.  Many 
years  later  the  ancient  doctors  of  Magdalen  continued  5 
to  talk  in  their  common  room  of  his  boyish  compositions, 
and  expressed  their  sorrow  that  no  copy  of  exercises  so 
remarkable  had  been  preserved.  It  is  proper,  however, 
to  remark  that  Miss  Aikin  has  committed  the  error, 
very  pardonable  in  a  lady,  of  overrating  Addison's  clas-  10 
sical  attainments.  In  one  department  of  learning,  in- 
deed, his  proficiency  was  such  as  it  is  hardly  possible  to 
pjverrate.  His  knowledge  of  the  Latin  poets,  from  Lucre- 
tius and  Catullus  down  to  Claudian  and  Prudentius, 
was  singularly  exact  and  profound.  He  understood  15 
them  thoroughl}^,  entered  into  their  spirit,  and  had  the 
finest  and  most  discriminating  perception  of  all  their 
peculiarities  of  style  and  melody ;  nay,  he  copied  their 
manner  with  admirable  skill,  and  surpassed,  we  think,  all 
their  British  imitators  who  had  preceded  him,  Buchanan  20 
and  Milton  alone  excepted.  This  is  high  praise ;  and 
beyond  this  we  cannot  with  justice  go.  It  is  clear  that 
Addison's  serious  attention  during  his  residence  at  the 
university  was  almost  entirely  concentrated  on  Latin 
poetry,  and  that,  if  he  did  not  wholly  neglect  other  25 
provinces  of  ancient  literature,  he  vouchsafed  to  them 
only  a  cursory  glance.  He  does  not  appear  to  have 
attained  more  than  an  ordinary  acquaintance  with  the 
political  and  moral  writers  of  Rome ;  nor  was  his  own 
Latin  prose  by  any  means  equal  to  his  Latin  verse.  His  30 
knowledge  of  Greek,  though  doubtless  such  as  was  in 
his  time  thought  respectable  at  Oxford,  was  evidently 
less  than  that  which  many  lads  now  carry  away  every 
year  from   Eton  and  Rugby.     A  minute  examination  of 


8  THE  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

his  works,  if  we  had  time  to  make  such  an  examination, 
would  fully  bear  out  these  remarks.  We  will  briefly 
advert  to  a  few  of  the  facts  on  which  our  judgment  is 
grounded. 
5  Great  praise  is  due  to  the  notes  which  Addison  ap- 
pended to  his  version  of  the  second  and  third  books  of 
the  '  Metamorphoses.'  Yet  those  notes,  while  they  show 
him  to  have  been,  in  his  own  domain,  an  accomplished 
scholar,  show  also  how  confined  that  domain  was.     They 

lo  are  rich  in  apposite  references  to  Virgil,  Statins,  and 
Claudian ;  but  they  contain  not  a  single  illustration 
drawn  from  the  Greek  poets.  Now,  if  in  the  whole  com- 
pass of  Latin  literature  there  be  a  passage  which  stands 
in  need  of  illustration   drawn  from  the  Greek  poets,  it 

15  is  the  story  of  Pentheus  in  the  third  book  of  the  '  Meta- 
morphoses.' Ovid  was  indebted  for  that  story  to  Eurip- 
ides and  Theocritus,  both  of  whom  he  has  sometimes 
followed  minutely.  But  neither  to  Euripides  nor  to 
Theocritus   does    Addison   make    the   faintest   allusion  ; 

20  and  we  therefore  believe  that  we  do  not  wrong  him  by 
supposing  that  he  had  little  or  no  knowledge  of  their 
works. 

His  travels  in  Italy,  again,  abound  with  classical  quo- 
tations, happily   introduced ;    but  scarcely  one   of  those 

25  quotations  is  in  prose.  He  draws  more  illustrations 
from  Ausonius  and  Manilius  than  from  Cicero.  Even 
his  notions  of  the  political  and  military  affairs  of  the 
Romans  seem  to  be  derived  from  poets  and  poetasters. 
Spots  made  memorable  by  events  which  have  changed 

30  the  destinies  of  the  world,  and  which  have  been  worthily 
recorded  by  great  historians,  bring  to  his  mind  only 
scraps  of  some  ancient  versifier.  In  the  gorge  of  the 
Apennines  he  naturally  remembers  the  hardships  which 
Hannibal's  army  endured,  and  proceeds  to  cite,  not  the 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.  9 

authentic  narrative  of  Polybius,  not  the  picturesque  nar- 
rative of  Livy,  but  the  languid  hexameters  of  Silius 
Italicus.  On  the  banks  of  the  Rubicon  he  never  thinks 
of  Plutarch's  lively  description,  or  of  the  stern  concise- 
ness of  the  Commentaries,  or  of  those  letters  to  Atticus  5 
which  so  forcibly  express  the  alternations  of  hope  and 
fear  in  a  sensitive  mind  at  a  great  crisis.  His  only 
authority  for  the  events  of  the  Civil  War  is  Lucan. 

All  the  best  ancient  works  of  art  at  Rom_e  and  Flor- 
ence are  Greek.  Addison  saw  them,  however,  without  10 
recalling  one  single  verse  of  Pindar,  o£  Callimachus,  or 
of  the  Attic  dramatists;  but  they  brought  to  his  recol- 
lection innumerable  passages  of  Horace,  Juvenal,  Statius, 
and^vid.  , 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  'Treatise  on  Medals.'  15 
In  that  pleasing  work  we  find  about  three  hundred  pas- 
sages extracted  with  great  judgment  from  the  Roman 
poets ;  but  we  do  not  recollect  a  single  passage  taken 
from  any  Roman  orator  or  historian,  and  we  are  confi- 
dent that  not  a  line  is  quoted  from  any  Greek  writer.  20 
No  person  who  had  derived  all  his  information  on  the 
subject  of  medals  from  Addison  would  suspect  that  the 
Greek  coins  were  in  historical  interest  equal,  and  in 
beauty  of  execution  far  superior,  to  those  of  Rome. 

If  it  were   necessary  to   find   any  further  proof  that  25 
Addison's  classical  knowledge  was  confined  within  nar- 
row limits,  that  proof  would  be  furnished  by  his  '  Essay 
on   the   Evidences  of   Christianity.'     The   Roman   poets 
throw   little   or  no    light  on   the    literary  and    historical 
questions  which  he  is  under  the  necessity  of  examining  30 
in  that  essay.     He  is,  therefore,  left  completely  in  the  - 
dark;    and   it   is   melancholy   to   see   how  helplessly  he 
gropes   his  way  from   blunder  to  blunder.     He   assigns 
as  grounds  for  his  religious  belief  stories  as  absurd  as 


10  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

that  of  the  Cock  Lane  ghost,  and  forgeries  as  rank  as 
Ireland's  Vortigern ;  puts  faith  in  the  lie  about  the  Thun- 
dering Legion ;  is  convinced  that  Tiberius  moved  the 
Senate  to  admit  Jesus  among  the  gods ;  and  pronounces 
5  the  letter  of  Abgarus,  King  of  Edessa,  to  be  a  record  of 
great  authority.  Nor  were  these  errors  the  effects  of 
superstition  ;  for  to  superstition  Addison  was  by  no 
means  prone.  The  truth  is,  that  he  was  writing  about 
what  he  did  not  understand. 

lo  Miss  Aikin  has  discovered  a  letter  from  which  it  ap- 
pears that,  while  Addison  resided  at  Oxford,  he  was  one 
of  several  writers  whom  the  booksellers  engaged  to  make 
an  English  version  of  Herodotus ;  and  she  infers  that  he 
must  have  been  a  good  Greek  scholar.     We  can  allow 

15  very  little  weight  to  this  argument  when  we  consider 
that  his  fellow-laborers  were  to  have  been  Boyle  and 
Blackmore.  Boyle  is  remembered  chiefly  as  the  nominal 
author  of  the  worst  book  on  Greek  history  and  philology 
that  ever  was  printed ;  and  this  book,  bad  as  it  is,  Boyle 

20  was  unable  to  produce  without  help.  Of  Blackmore's 
attainments  in  the  ancient  tongues,  it  may  be  sufficient 
to  say  that,  in  his  prose,  he  has  confounded  an  aphorism 
with  an  apothegm,  and  that  when,  in  his  verse,  he  treats 
of  classical  subjects,  his  habit  is  to  regale  his  readers  with 

25  four  false  quantities  to  a  page. 

It  is  probable  that  the  classical  acquirements  of  Addi- 
son were  of  as  much  service  to  him  as  if  they  had  been 
more  extensive.  The  world  generally  gives  its  admira- 
tion, not  to  the   man  who   does  what  nobody  else  even 

30  attempts  to  do,  but  to  the  man  who  does  best  what  mul- 
titudes do  well.  Bentley  was  so  immeasurably  superior 
to  all  the  other  scholars  of  his  time  that  few  among  them 
could  discover  his  superiority.  But  the  accomplishment 
in  which  Addison  excelled  his  contemporaries  was  then, 


THE  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.  11 

as  it  is  now,  highly  valued  and  assiduously  cultivated  at 
all  English  seats  of  learning.  Everybody  who  had  been 
at  a  public  school  had  written  Latin  verses;  many  had 
written  such  verses  with  tolerable  success,  and  were  quite 
able  to  appreciate,  though  by  no  means  able  to  rival,  the  5 
skill  with  which  Addison  imitated  Virgil.  His  lines  on 
the  '  Barometer '  and  the  '  Bowling  Green '  were  ap- 
plauded by  hundreds  to  whom  the  'Dissertation  on  the 
Epistles  of  Phalaris  '  was  as  unintelligible  as  the  hiero- 
glyphics on  an  obelisk.  '    10 

Purity  of  style  and  an  easy  flow  of  numbers  are  com- 
mon to  all  Addison's  Latin  poems.  Our  favorite  piece 
is  the  '  Battle  of  the  Cranes  and  Pygmies,'  for  in  that 
piece  we  discern  a  gleam  of  the  fancy  and  humor  which 
many  years  later  enlivened  thousands  of  breakfast-tables.  15 
Swift  boasted  that  he  was  never  known  to  steal  a  hint ; 
and  he  certainly  owed  as  little  to  his  predecessors  as  any 
modern  writer.  Yet  we  cannot  help  suspecting  that  he 
borrowed,  perhaps  unconsciously,  one  of  the  happiest 
touches  in  his  voyage  to  Lilliput  from  Addison's  verses.  20 
Let  our  readers  judge. 

"The  Emperor,"  says  Gulliver,  "is  taller  by  about  the 
breadth  of  my  nail  than  any  of  his  court,  which  alone  is 
enough  to  strike  an  awe  into  the  beholders." 

About    thirty   years    before    'Gulliver's    Travels'    ap-  25 
peared,  Addison  wrote  these  lines  :  — 

"  Jamque  acies  inter  medias  sese  arduus  infert 
Pygmeadum  ductor,  qui,  majestate  verendus, 
Incessuque  gravis,  reliquos  supereminet  omnes 
Mole  gigantea,  mediamque  exsurgit  in  ulnam."  30 

The  Latin  poems  of  Addison  were  greatly  and  justly 
admired  both  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge  before  his  name 
had  ever  been  heard  by  the  wits  who  thronged  the  coffee- 


12         THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

houses  round  Drury  Lane  Theatre.  In  his  twenty-second 
year  he  ventured  to  appear  before  the  public  as  a  writer 
of  English  verse.  He  addressed  some  complimentary 
lines  to  Dryden,  who,  after  many  triumphs  and  many 
5  reverses,  had  at  length  reached  a  secure  and  lonely  emi- 
nence among  the  literary  men  of  that  age.  Dryden  ap- 
pears to  have  been  much  gratified  by  the  young  scholar's 
praise ;  and  an  interchange  of  civilities  and  good  offices 
followed.     Addison  was  probably  introduced  by  Dryden 

10  to  Congreve,  and  was  certainly  presented  by  Congreve 
to  Charles  Montagu,  who  was  then  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  and  leader  of  the  Whig  party  in  the  House 
of  Commons. 

At  this  time  Addison  seemed  inclined  to  devote  him- 

1$  self  to  poetry.  He  published  a  translation  of  part  of  the 
fourth  Georgic,  '  Lines  to  King  William,'  and  other  per- 
formances of  equal  value;  that  is  to  say,  of  no  value  at 
all.  But  in  those  days  the  public  was  in  the  habit  of 
receiving  with  applause  pieces   which  would   now  have 

20  little  chance  of  obtaining  the  Newdigate  prize  or  the 
Seatonian  prize.  And  the  reason  is  obvious.  The  heroic 
couplet  was  then  the  favorite  measure.  The  art  of 
arranging  words  in  that  measure,  so  that  the  lines  may 
flow  smoothly,  that  the  accents  may  fall  correctly,  that 

25  the  rimes  may  strike  the  ear  strongly,  and  that  there 
may  be  a  pause  at  the  end  of  every  distich,  is  an  art  as 
mechanical  as  that  of  mending  a  kettle  or  shoeing  a  horse, 
and  may  be  learned  by  any  human  being  who  has  sense 
enough  to  learn  anything.    But,  like  other  mechanical  arts, 

30  it  was  gradually  improved  by  means  of  many  experiments 
and  many  failures.  It  was  reserved  for  Pope  to  dis- 
cover the  trick,  to  make  himself  complete  master  of  it, 
and  to  teach  it  to  everybody  else.  From  the  time  when 
his    '  Pastorals '    appeared,    heroic    versification    became 


THE  LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   01   ADDISON.         13 

matter  of  rule  and  compass ;  and  before  long  all  artists 
were  on  a  level.  Hundreds  of  dunces  who  never  blun- 
dered on  one  happy  thought  or  expression  were  able  to 
write  reams  of  couplets  which,  as  far  as  euphony  was 
concerned,  could  not  be  distinguished  from  those  of  Pope  5 
himself,  and  which  very  clever  writers  of  the  reign  of 
Charles  the  Second  —  Rochester,  for  example,  or  Mar- 
vel, or  Oldham  —  would  have  contemplated  with  admiring 
despair. 

Ben  Jonson  was  a  great  man,  Hoole  a  very  small  man.  10 
But  Hoole,  coming  after  Pope,  had  learned  how  to  manu- 
facture decasyllabic  verses,  and  poured  them  forth  by 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands,  all  as  well  turned,  as 
smooth,  and  as  like  each  other  as  the  blocks  which  have 
passed  through  Mr.  Brunei's  mill  in  the  dockyards  at  15 
Portsmouth.  Ben's  heroic  couplets  resemble  blocks 
rudely  hewn  out  by  an  unpractised  hand  with  a  blunt 
hatchet.  Take  as  a  specimen  his  translation  of  a  cele- 
brated passage  in  the  ^Eneid  :  — 

"  This  child  our  parent  earth,  stirred  up  with  spite  20 

Of  all  the  gods,  brought  forth,  and,  as  some  write, 
She  was  last  sister  of  that  giant  race 
That  sought  to  scale  Jove's  court,  right  swift  of  pace, 
And  swifter  far  of  wing,  a  monster  vast 

And  dreadful.     Look,  how  many  plumes  are  placed  25 

On  her  huge  corpse,  so  many  waking  eyes 
Stick  underneath,  and,  which  may  stranger  rise 
In  the  report,  as  many  tongues  she  wears." 

Compare   with   these    jagged,    misshapen   distichs   the 
neat  fabric  which  Hoole's  machine  produces  in  unlimited  3° 
abundance.     We  take  the  first  lines  on  which  we  open  in 
his  version  of  Tasso.     They  are  neither  better  nor  worse 
than  the  rest;  — 


14  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

"  O  thou,  whoe'er  thou  art,  whose  steps  are  led. 
By  choice  or  fate,  these  lonely  shores  to  tread, 
No  greater  wonders  east  or  west  can  boast 
Than  yon  small  island  on  the  pleasing  coast. 
5  If  e'er  thy  sight  would  blissful  scenes  explore. 

The  current  pass,  and  seek  the  further  shore." 

Ever  since  the  time  of  Pope  there  has  been  a  glut 
of  lines  of  this  sort;  and  we  are  now  as  little  disposed  to 
admire  a  man  for  being  able  to  write  them  as  for  being 

ID  able  to  write  his  name.  But  in  the  days  of  William  the 
Third  such  versification  was  rare  ;  and  a  rimer  who  had 
any  skill  in  it  passed  for  a  great  poet,  just  as  in  the 
dark  ages  a  person  who  could  write  his  name  passed  for 
a  great   clerk.     Accordingly,    Duke,    Stepney,  Granville, 

15  Walsh,  and  others,  whose  only  title  to  fame  was  that 
they  said  in  tolerable  meter  what  might  have  been  as 
well  said  in  prose,  or  what  was  not  worth  saying  at  all, 
were  honored  with  marks  of  distinction  which  ought  to 
be  reserved  for  genius.     With  these  Addison  must  have 

20  ranked,  if  he  had  not  earned  true  and  lasting  glory  by  per- 
formances which  very  little  resembled  his  juvenile  poems. 
Dryden  was  now  busied  with  Virgil,  and  obtained  from 
Addison  a  critical  preface   to   the  Georgics.     In  return 
for  this  service,  and  for  other  services  of  the  same  kind, 

25  the  veteran  poet,  in  the  postscript  to  the  translation  of 
the  ^neid,  complimented  his  young  friend  with  great 
liberality,  and  indeed  with  more  liberality  than  sincerity. 
He  affected  to  be  afraid  that  his  own  performance  would 
not  sustain  a  comparison  with  the  version  of  the  fourth 

30  Georgic  by  "  the  most  ingenious  Mr.  Addison  of  Oxford." 
"After  his  bees,"  added  Dryden,  "my  latter  swarm  is 
scarcely  worth  the  hiving." 

The  time  had  now  arrived  when  it  was  necessary  for 
Addison   to   choose    a   calling.      Everything    seemed    to 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         15 

point  his  course  towards  the  clerical  profession.  His 
habits  were  regular,  his  opinions  orthodox.  His  college 
had  large  ecclesiastical  preferment  in  its  gift,  and  boasts 
that  it  has  given  at  least  one  bishop  to  almost  every  see 
in  England.  Dr.  Lancelot  Addison  held  an  honorable  5 
place  in  the  Church,  and  had  set  his  heart  on  seeing  his 
son  a  clergyman.  It  is  clear,  from  some  expressions  in 
the  young  man's  rimes,  that  his  intention  was  to  take 
orders.  But  Charles  Montagu  interfered.  Montagu  had 
first  brought  himself  into  notice  by  verses,  well-timed  10 
and  not  contemptibly  written,  but  never,  we  think, 
rising  above  mediocrity.  Fortunately  for  himself  and 
for  his  country,  he  early  quitted  poetry,  in  which  he 
could  never  have  attained  a  rank  as  high  as  that  of 
Dorset  or  Rochester,  and  turned  his  mind  to  official  and  15 
parliamentary  business.  It  is  written  that  the  ingenious 
person  who  undertook  to  instruct  Rasselas,  prince  of 
Abyssinia,  in  the  art  of  flying,  ascended  an  eminence, 
waved  his  wings,  sprang  into  the  air,  and  instantly 
dropped  into  the  lake.  But  it  is  added  that  the  wings  20 
which  were  unable  to  support  him  through  the  sky,  bore 
him  up  effectually  as  soon  as  he  was  in  the  water.  This 
is  no  bad  type  of  the  fate  of  Charles  Montagu,  and  of 
men  like  him.  When  he  attempted  to  soar  into  the 
regions  of  poetical  invention,  he  altogether  failed;  but  25 
as  soon  as  he  had  descended  from  that  ethereal  elevation 
into  a  lower  and  grosser  element,  his  talents  instantly 
raised  him  above  the  mass.  He  became  a  distinguished 
financier,  debater,  courtier,  and  party  leader.  He  still 
retained  his  fondness  for  the  pursuits  of  his  early  days  ;  30 
but  he  showed  that  fondness,  not  by  wearying  the  public 
with  his  own  feeble  performances,  but  by  discovering 
and  encouraging  literary  excellence  in  others.  A  crowd 
of   wits  and  poets,  who  would    easily  have    vanquished 


16  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

him  as  a  competitor,  revered  him  as  a  judge  and  a  patron. 
In  his  plans  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  he  was 
cordially  supported  by  the  ablest  and  most  virtuous  of 
his  colleagues,  the  Lord  Chancellor  Somers.  Though 
5  both  these  great  statesmen  had  a  sincere  love  of  letters, 
it  was  not  solely  from  a  love  of  letters  that  they  were 
desirous  to  enlist  youths  of  high  intellectual  qualifica- 
tions in  the  public  service.  The  Revolution  had  altered 
the  whole  system  of  government.      Before  that  event  the 

10  press  had  been  controlled  by  censors,  and  the  parliament 
had  sat  only  two  months  in  eight  years.  Now  the  press 
was  free,  and  had  begun  to  exercise  unprecedented  influ- 
ence on  the  public  mind.  Parliament  met  annually  and 
sat  long.    The  chief  power  in  the  State  had  passed  to  the 

15  House  of  Commons.  At  such  a  conjuncture,  it  was  natu- 
ral that  literary  and  oratorical  talents  should  rise  in  value. 
There  was  danger  that  a  government  which  neglected 
such  talents  might  be  subverted  by  them.  It  was,  there- 
fore, a  profound  and  enlightened  policy  which  led  Montagu 

20  and  Somers  to  attach  such  talents  to  the  Whig  party,  by 
the  strongest  ties  both  of  interest  and  of  gratitude. 

It  is  remarkable  that  in  a  neighboring  country  we 
have  recently  seen  similar  effects  follow  from  similar 
causes.     The  Revolution  of  July,  1830,  established  repre- 

25  sentative  government  in  France.  The  men  of  letters 
instantly  rose  to  the  highest  importance  in  the  State. 
At  the  present  moment,  most  of  the  persons  whom  we 
see  at  the  head  both  of  the  Administration  and  of  the 
Opposition   have  been  professors,  historians,  journalists, 

30  poets.  The  influence  of  the  literary  class  in  England 
during  the  generation  which  followed  the  Revolution 
was  great,  but  by  no  means  so  great  as  it  has  lately  been 
in  France ;  for  in  England  the  aristocracy  of  intellect 
had  to  contend  with  a  powerful  and  deeply  rooted  aris- 


-r9 


THE   LIFE   AND   VVRiriNGS   OF  ADDISON.  17 

tocracy  of  a  very  different  kind.  France  had  no  Somer- 
sets and  Shrewsburies  to  keep  down  her  Addisons  and 
Priors. 

It  was  in  the  year  1699,  when  Addison  had  just  com- 
pleted his  twenty-seventh  year,  that  the  course  of  his  Ufe  5 
was  finally  determined.  Both  the  great  chiefs  of  the 
Ministry  were  kindly  disposed  towards  him.  In  political 
opinions  he  already  was  what  he  continued  to  be  through 
life,  a  firm,  though  a  moderate.  Whig.  He  had  addressed 
the  most  polished  and  vigorous  of  his  early  English  lines  10 
to  Somers,  and  had  dedicated  to  Montagu  a  Latin  poem, 
truly  Virgilian  both  in  style  and  rhythm,  on  the  peace  of 
Ryswick.  The  wish  of  the  young  poet's  great  friends 
was,  it  should  seem,  to  employ  him  in  the  service  of  the 
Crown  abroad.  But  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  French  15 
language  was  a  qualification  indispensable  to  a  diploma- 
tist; and  this  qualification  Addison  had  not  acquired.  It 
was,  therefore,  thought  desirable  that  he  should  pass 
some  time  on  the  Continent  in  preparing  himself  for 
official  employment.  His  own  means  were  not  such  as  20 
would  enable  him  to  travel;  but  a  pension  of  three  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year  was  procured  for  him  by  the  interest 
of  the  Lord  Chancellor.  It  seems  to  have  been  appre- 
hended that  some  difficulty  might  be  started  by  the  rulers 
of  Magdalen  College.  But  the  Chancellor  of  the  Ex-  25 
chequer  wrote  in  the  strongest  terms  to  Hough.  The 
State  —  such  was  the  purport  of  Montagu's  letter — could 
not,  at  that  time,  spare  to  the  Church  such  a  man  as 
Addison.  Too  many  high  civil  posts  were  already  occu- 
pied by  adventurers,  who,  destitute  of  every  liberal  art  3° 
and  sentiment,  at  once  pillaged  and  disgraced  the  coun- 
try which  they  pretended  to  serve.  It  had  become 
necessary  to  recruit  for  the  public  service  from  a  very 
different  class,  —  from  that  class  of  which  Addison  was  the 


18  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

representative.  The  close  of  the  Minister's  letter  was 
remarkable.  "  I  am  called,"  he  said,  "  an  enemy  of  the 
Church.  But  I  will  never  do  it  any  other  injury  than 
keeping  Mr.  Addison  out  of  it." 
5  This  interference  was  successful;  and  in  the  summer 
of  1699,  Addison,  made  a  rich  man  by  his  pension,  and 
still  retaining  his  fellowship,  quitted  his  beloved  Oxford, 
and  set  out  on  his  travels.  He  crossed  from  Dover  to 
Calais,  proceeded  to  Paris,  and  was  received  there  with 

10  great  kindness  and  politeness  by  a  kinsman  of  his  friend 
Montagu,  Charles,  Earl  of  Manchester,  who  had  just 
been  appointed  Ambassador  to  the  Court  of  France. 
The  Countess,  a  Whig  and  a  toast,  was  probably  as  gra- 
cious as  her  lord ;  for  Addison  long  retained  an  agree- 

15  able  recollection  of  the  impression  which  she  at  this 
time  made  on  him,  and,  in  some  lively  lines  written  on 
the  glasses  of  the  Kit  Cat  Club,  described  the  envy 
which  her  cheeks,  glowing  with  the  genuine  bloom  of 
England,  had    excited    among   the    painted    beauties    of 

20  Versailles. 

Louis  the  Fourteenth  was  at  this  time  expiating  the 
vices  of  his  youth  by  a  devotion  which  had  no  root  in 
reason,  and  bore  no  fruit  of  charity.  The  servile  litera- 
ture  of    France    had    changed  its  character  to  suit    the 

25  changed  character  of  the  prince.  No  book  appeared 
that  had  not  an  air  of  sanctity.  Racine,  who  was  just 
dead,  had  passed  the  close  of  his  life  in  writing  sacred 
dramas ;  and  Dacier  was  seeking  for  the  Athanasian 
mysteries    in   Plato.       Addison    described   this    state  of 

30  things  in  a  short  but  lively  and  graceful  letter  to  Mon- 
tagu. Another  letter,  written  about  the  same  time  to 
the  Lord  Chancellor,  conveyed  the  strongest  assurances 
of  gratitude  and  attachment.  "  The  only  return  I  can 
make  to  your  lordship,"  said  Addison,  "will  be  to  apply 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.  19 

myself  entirely  to  my  business."  With  this  view  he 
quitted  Paris  and  repaired  to  Blois,  a  place  where  it  was 
supposed  that  the  French  language  was  spoken  in  its 
highest  purity,  and  where  not  a  single  Englishman 
could  be  found.  Here  he  passed  some  months  pleasantly  5 
and  profitably.  Of  his  way  of  life  at  Blois,  one  of  his 
associates,  an  abbe  named  Philippeaux,  gave  an  account 
to  Joseph  Spence.  If  this  account  is  to  be  trusted, 
Addison  studied  much,  mused  much,  talked  little,  had 
fits  of  absence,  and  either  had  no  love  affairs  or  was  too  10 
discreet  to  confide  them  to  the  abbe.  A  man  who,  even 
when  surrounded  by  fellow-countrymen  and  fellow-stu- 
dents, had  always  been  remarkably  shy  and  silent,  was 
not  likely  to  be  loquacious  in  a  foreign  tongue  and 
among  foreign  companions.  But  it  is  clear  from  Addi-  15 
son's  letters,  some  of  which  were  long  after  published 
in  the  Guardian,  that,  while  he  appeared  to  be  absorbed 
in  his  own  meditations,  he  was  really  observing  French 
society  with  that  keen  and  sly,  yet  not  ill-natured,  side- 
glance  which  was  peculiarly  his  own.  20 

From  Blois  he  returned  to  Paris ;  and  having  now 
mastered  the  French  language,  found  great  pleasure  in 
the  society  of  French  philosophers  and  poets.  He  gave 
an  account  in  a  letter  to  Bishop  Hough  of  two  highly 
interesting  conversations,  one  with  Malebranche,  the  other  25 
with  Boileau.  Malebranche  expressed  great  partiality  for 
the  English,  and  extolled  the  genius  of  Newton,  but  shook 
his  head  when  Hobbes  was  mentioned,  and  was  indeed 
so  unjust  as  to  call  the  author  of  the  'Leviathan'  a  poor 
silly  creature.  Addison's  modesty  restrained  him  from  3c 
fully  relating,  in  his  letter,  the  circumstances  of  his  intro- 
duction to  Boileau.  Boileau,  having  survived  the  friends 
and  rivals  of  his  youth,  old,  deaf,  and  melancholy,  lived 
in   retirement,   seldom  went    either  to   Court    or  to    the 


20  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

Academy,  and  was  almost  inaccessible  to  strangers.  Of 
the  English  and  of  English  literature  he  knew  nothing. 
He  had  hardly  heard  the  name  of  Dryden.  Some  of  our 
countrymen,  in  the  warmth  of  their  patriotism,  have  as- 
5  serted  that  this  ignorance  must  have  been  affected.  We 
own  that  we  see  no  ground  for  such  a  supposition.  Eng- 
lish literature  was  to  the  French  of  the  age  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  what  German  literature  was  to  our  own  grand- 
fathers.    Very  few,  we  suspect,  of  the  accomplished  men 

10  who,  sixty  or  seventy  years  ago,  used  to  dine  in  Leicester 
Square  with  Sir  Joshua,  or  at  Streatham  with  Mrs.  Thrale, 
had  the  slightest  notion  that  Wieland  was  one  of  the  first 
wits  and  poets,  and  Lessing  beyond  all  dispute  the  first 
critic,  in  Europe.     Boileau  knew  just  as  little  about  the 

15  'Paradise  Lost'  and  about  'Absalom  and  Achitophel'; 
but  he  had  read  Addison's  Latin  poems,  and  admired  them 
greatly.  They  had  given  him,  he  said,  quite  a  new  notion 
of  the  state  of  learning  and  taste  among  the  English. 
Johnson  will  have  it  that  these  praises   were  insincere. 

20  "Nothing,"  says  he,  "  is  better  known  of  Boileau  than  that 
he  had  an  injudicious  and  peevish  contempt  of  modern 
Latin;  and  therefore  his  profession  of  regard  was  probably 
the  effect  of  his  civility  rather  than  approbation."  Now, 
nothing  is  better  known  of    Boileau  than   that   he    was 

25  singularly  sparing  of  compliments.  We  do  not  remember 
that  either  friendship  or  fear  ever  induced  him  to  bestow 
praise  on  any  composition  which  he  did  not  approve.  On 
literary  questions,  his  caustic,  disdainful,  and  self-confident 
spirit  rebelled  against  that  authority  to  which  everything 

30  else  in  France  bowed  down.  He  had  the  spirit  to  tell 
Louis  the  Fourteenth  firmly,  and  even  rudely,  that  his 
Majesty  knew  nothing  about  poetry,  and  admired  verses 
which  were  detestable.  What  was  there  in  Addison's 
position  that  could  induce  the  satirist,  whose  stern  and 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON         21 

fastidious  temper  had  been  the  dread  of  two  generations, 
to  turn  sycophant  for  the  first  and  hist  time  ?  Nor  was 
Boileau's  contempt  of  modern  Latin  either  injudicious  or 
peevish.  He  thought,  indeed,  that  no  poem  of  the  first 
order  would  ever  be  written  in  a  dead  language.  And  5 
did  he  think  amiss?  Has  not  the  experience  of  centuries 
confirmed  his  opinion  1  Boileau  also  thought  it  probable 
that,  in  the  best  modern  Latin,  a  writer  of  the  Augustan 
age  would  have  detected  ludicrous  improprieties.  And 
who  can  think  otherwise  ?  What  modern  scholar  can  10 
honestly  declare  that  he  sees  the  smallest  impurity  in  the 
style  of  Livy  ?  Yet  is  it  not  certain  that,  in  the  style  of 
Livy,  PoUio,  whose  taste  had  been  formed  on  the  banks 
of  the  Tiber,  detected  the  inelegant  idiom  of  the  Po  ? 
Has  any  modern  scholar  understood  Latin  better  than  15 
Frederic  the  Great  understood  French  ?  Yet  is  it  not 
notorious  that  Frederic  the  Great,  after  reading,  speaking, 
writing  French,  and  nothing  but  French,  during  more 
than  half  a  century,  after  unlearning  his  mother  tongue 
in  order  to  learn  French,  after  living  familiarly  during  20 
many  years  with  French  associates,  could  not,  to  the  last, 
compose  in  French  without  imminent  risk  of  committing 
some  mistake  which  would  have  moved  a  smile  in  the 
literary  circles  of  Paris  ?  Do  we  believe  that  Erasmus 
and  Fracastorius  wrote  Latin  as  w^ell  as  Dr.  Robertson  25 
and  Sir  Walter  Scott  wrote  English  ?  And  are  there  not 
in  the  'Dissertation  on  India,'  the  last  of  Dr.  Robert- 
son's works,  in  '  Waverley,'  in  '  Marmion,'  Scotticisms  at 
which  a  London  apprentice  would  laugh  ?  But  does  it 
follow,  because  we  think  thus,  that  we  can  find  nothing  3c 
to  admire  in  the  noble  alcaics  of  Gray,  or  in  the  playful 
elegiacs  of  Vincent  Bourne .''  Surely  not.  Nor  was 
Boileau  so  ignorant  or  tasteless  as  to  be  incapable  of 
appreciating  good  modern  Latin.     In  the  very  letter  to 


22  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

which  Johnson  alludes,  Boileau  says:  "Ne  croyez  pas 
pourtant  que  je  veuille  par  la  blamer  les  vers  Latins  que 
vous  m'avez  envoyes  d'un  de  vos  illustres  acade'miciens. 
Je  les  ai  trouves  fort   beaux,   et   dignes  de  Vida  et  de 

5  Sannazar,  mais  non  pas  d'Horace  et  de  Virgile."  Several 
poems  in  modern  Latin  have  been  praised  by  Boileau 
quite  as  liberally  as  it  was  his  habit  to  praise  anything. 
He  says,  for  example,  of  the  Pere  Fraguier's  epigrams,  that 
Catullus  seems  to  have  come  to  life  again.     But  the  best 

10  proof  that  Boileau  did  not  feel  the  undiscerning  contempt 
for  modern  Latin  verses  which  has  been  imputed  to  him 
is  that  he  wrote  and  published  Latin  verses  in  several 
meters.  Indeed,  it  happens,  curiously  enough,  that  the 
most  severe  censure  ever  pronounced  by  him  on  modern 

15  Latin  is  conveyed  in  Latin  hexameters.  We  allude  to  the 
fragment  which  begins :  — 

"  Quid  numeris  iterum  me  balbutire  Latinis, 
Longe  Alpes  citra  natum  de  patre  Sicambro, 
Musa,  jubes  ? " 

20  For  these  reasons  we  feel  assured  that  the  praise  which 
Boileau  bestowed  on  the  '  Machinae  Gesticulantes '  and 
the  '  Gerano-Pygmaeomachia  '  was  sincere.  He  certainly 
opened  himself  to  Addison  with  a  freedom  which  was  a  sure 
indication  of  esteem.     Literature  was  the  chief  subject  of 

25  conversation.  The  old  man  talked  on  his  favorite  theme 
much  and  well,  —  indeed,  as  his  young  hearer  thought, 
incomparably  well.  Boileau  had  undoubtedly  some  of  the 
qualities  of  a  great  critic.  He  wanted  imagination;  but 
he  had  strong  sense.     His  literary  code  was  formed  on 

30  narrow  principles ;  but  in  applying  it  he  showed  great 
judgment  and  penetration.  In  mere  style,  abstracted 
from  the  ideas  of  which  style  is  the  garb,  his  taste  was 
excellent.     He  was  well  acquainted  with  the  great  Greek 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         23 

writers,  and,  though  unable  fully  to  appreciate  their  crea- 
tive genius,  admired  the  majestic  simplicity  of  their  man- 
ner, and  had  learned  from  them  to  despise  bombast  and 
tinsel.  It  is  easy,  we  think,  to  discover  in  the  Spectator 
and  the  Guardian  traces  of  the  influence,  in  part  salutary  5 
and  in  part  pernicious,  which  the  mind  of  Boileau  had  on 
the  mind  of  Addison.  _ 

While  Addison  was  at  Paris,  an  event  took  place  which 
made  that  capital  a  disagreeable  residence  for  an  English- 
man and  a  Whig.     Charles,  second  of  the  name,  King  of  lo 
Spain,  died,  and  bequeathed  his  dominions  to  Philip,  Duke 
of  Anjou,  a  younger  son  of  the  Dauphin.     The  King  of 
France,  in  direct  violation  of  his  engagements,  both  with 
Great  Britain   and  with  the   States-General,  accepted  the 
bequest  on  behalf  of  his  grandson.  The  House  of  Bourbon  15 
was  at  the  summit  of  human  grandeur.    England  had  been 
outwitted,  and  found  herself  in  a  situation  at  once  degrad- 
ing and  perilous.     The  people  of  France,  not  presaging 
the  calamities  by  which  they  were  destined  to  expiate  the 
perfidy  of  their  sovereign,  went  mad  with  pride  and  delight.  20 
Every  man  looked  as  if  a  great  estate  had  just  been  left 
him.    "The  French  conversation,"  said  Addison,  "begins 
to  grow  insupportable;  that  which  was  before  the  vainest 
nation  in  the  world  is  now  worse  than  ever."     Sick  of  the 
arrogant  exultation  of  the  Parisians,  and  probably  fore-  25 
seeing  that  the  peace  between  France  and  England  could 
not  be  of  long  duration,  he  set  off  for  Italy. 

In  December,  1700,^  he  embarked  at  Marseilles.     As  he 

1  It  is  strange  that  Addison  should,  in  the  first  lines  of  his  travels, 
have  misdated  his  departure  from  Marseilles  by  a  whole  year,  and 
still  more  strange  that  this  slip  of  the  pen,  which  throws  the  whole 
narrative  into  inextricable  confusion,  should  have  been  repeated  in 
a  succession  of  editions,  and  never  detected  by  Tickell  or  Hard.  — 
Macaiilay. 


24  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

glided  along  the  Ligurian  coast,  he  was  delighted  by  the 
sight  of  myrtles  and  olive  trees,  which  retained  their 
verdure  under  the  winter  solstice.  Soon,  however,  he 
encountered  one  of  the  black  storms  of  the  Mediterra- 
5  nean.  The  captain  of  the  ship  gave  up  all  for  lost,  and 
confessed  himself  to  a  capuchin  who  happened  to  be  on 
board.  The  English  heretic,  in  the  meantime,  fortified 
himself  against  the  terrors  of  death  with  devotions  of 
a  very  different  kind.     How  strong  an  impression   this 

10  perilous  voyage  made  on  him  appears  from  the  ode, 
'  How  are  thy  servants  blest,  O  Lord  ! '  which  was  long 
after  published  in  the  Spectator.  After  some  days  of 
discomfort  and  danger,  Addison  was  glad  to  land  at 
Savona,  and  to  make  his  way,  over  mountains  where  no 

15  road  had  yet  been  hewn  out  by  art,  to  the  city  of  Genoa. 

At  Genoa,  still  ruled  by  her  own   Doge,  and  by  the 

nobles  whose  names  were  inscribed  on  her  Book  of  Gold, 

Addison  made  a   short   stay.      He   admired  the  narrow 

streets  overhung  by  long  lines  of  towering  palaces,  the 

20  walls  rich  with  frescos,  the  gorgeous  temple  of  the 
Annunciation,  and  the  tapestries  whereon  were  recorded 
the  long  glories  of  the  House  of  Doria.  Thence  he 
hastened  to  Milan,  where  he  contemplated  the  Gothic 
magnificence   of  the   cathedral  with   more   wonder   than 

25  pleasure.  He  passed  Lake  Benacus  while  a  gale  was 
blowing,  and  saw  the  waves  raging  as  they  raged  when 
Virgil  looked  upon  them.  At  Venice,  then  the  gayest 
spot  in  Europe,  the  traveler  spent  the  Carnival,  the  gayest 
season  of  the  year,  in  the  midst  of  masks,  dances,  and 

30  serenades.  Here  he  was  at  once  diverted  and  provoked 
by  the  absurd  dramatic  pieces  which  then  disgraced  the 
Italian  stage.  To  one  of  those  pieces,  however,  he  was 
indebted  for  a  valuable  hint.  He  was  present  when  a 
ridiculous    play   on    the    death   of   Cato   was   performed. 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON         25 

Cato,  it  seems,  was  in  love  with  a  daughter  of  Scipio. 
The  lady  had  given  her  heart  to  Caesar.  The  rejected 
lover  determined  to  destroy  himself.  He  appeared  seated 
in  his  library,  a  dagger  in  his  hand,  a  Plutarch  and  a  Tasso 
before  him;  and  in  this  position  he  pronounced  a  soliloquy  5 
before  he  struck  the  blow.  We  are  surprised  that  so  re- 
markable a  circumstance  as  this  should  have  escaped  the 
notice  of  all  Addison's  biographers.  There  cannot,  we 
conceive,  be  the  smallest  doubt  that  this  scene,  in  spite 
of  its  absurdities  and  anachronisms,  struck  the  traveler's  10 
imagination,  and  suggested  to  him  the  thought  of  bringing 
Cato  on  the  English  stage.  It  is  well  known  that  about 
this  time  he  began  his  tragedy,  and  that  he  finished  the 
first  four  acts  before  he  returned  to  England. 

On  his  way  from  Venice  to  Rome,  he  was  drawn  some  15 
miles  out  of  the  beaten  road  by  a  wish  to  see  the  smallest 
independent  state  in  Europe.  On  a  rock  where  the  snow 
still  lay,  though  the  Italian  spring  was  now  far  advanced, 
was  perched  the  little  fortress  of  San  Marino.  The  roads 
which  led  to  the  secluded  town  were  so  bad  that  few  20 
travelers  had  ever  visited  it,  and  none  had  ever  pub- 
lished an  account  of  it.  Addison  could  not  suppress  a 
good-natured  smile  at  the  simple  manners  and  institu- 
tions of  this  singular  community.  But  he  observed, 
with  the  exultation  of  a  Whig,  that  the  rude  mountain  25 
tract  which  formed  the  territory  of  the  republic  swarmed 
with  an  honest,  healthy,  and  contented  peasantry,  while 
the  rich  plain  which  surrounded  the  metropolis  of  civil 
and  spiritual  tyranny  was  scarcely  less  desolate  than  the 
uncleared  wilds  of  America.  30 

At  Rome  Addison  remained  on  his  first  visit  only  long 
enough  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  St.  Peter's  and  of  the 
Pantheon.  His  haste  is  the  more  extraordinary  because 
the  Holy  Week   was  close  at  hand.     He   has  given  no 


26  THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

hint  which  can  enable  us  to  pronounce  why  he  chose  to 
fly  from  a  spectacle  which  every  year  allures  from  distant 
regions  persons  of  far  less  taste  and  sensibility  than  his. 
Possibly,  traveling  as  he  did  at  the  charge  of  a  govern- 
5  ment  distinguished  by  its  enmity  to  the  Church  of  Rome, 
he  may  have  thought  that  it  would  be  imprudent  in  him 
to  assist  at  the  most  magnificent  rite  of  that  Church. 
Many  eyes  would  be  upon  him,  and  he  might  find  it  difii- 
cult  to  behave  in  such  a  manner  as  to  give  offense  neither 

10  to  his  patrons  in  England  nor  to  those  among  whom  he 
resided.  Whatever  his  motives  may  have  been,  he  turned 
his  back  on  the  most  august  and  affecting  ceremony  which 
is  known  among  men,  and  posted  along  the  Appian  Way 
to  Naples. 

15  Naples  was  then  destitute  of  what  are  now,  perhaps, 
its  chief  attractions.  The  lovely  bay  and  the  awful 
mountain  were  indeed  there.  But  a  farmhouse  stood  on 
the  theater  of  Herculaneum,  and  rows  of  vines  grew  over 
the  streets  of  Pompeii.     The  temples  of  Poestum  had  not 

20  indeed  been  hidden  from  the  eye  of  man  by  any  great 
convulsion  of  nature ;  but,  strange  to  say,  their  existence 
was  a  secret  even  to  artists  and  antiquaries.  Though 
situated  within  a  few  hours'  journey  of  a  great  capital, 
where  Salvator  had  not  long  before  painted,  and  where 

25  Vico  was  then  lecturing,  those  noble  remains  were  as 
little  known  to  Europe  as  the  ruined  cities  overgrown  by 
the  forests  of  Yucatan.  What  was  to  be  seen  at  Naples 
Addison  saw.  He  climbed  Vesuvius,  explored  the  tunnel 
of  Posilipo,  and  wandered  among  the  vines  and  almond 

30  trees  of  Caprece.  But  neither  the  wonders  of  nature  nor 
those  of  art  could  so  occupy  his  attention  as  to  prevent 
him  from  noticing,  though  cursorily,  the  abuses  of  the 
government  and  the  misery  of  the  people.  The  great 
kingdom  which  had  just  descended  to  Philip  the  Fifth 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         11 

was  in  a  state  of  paralytic  dotage.  Even  Castile  and 
Aragon  were  sunk  in  wretchedness.  Yet,  compared  with 
the  Italian  dependencies  of  the  Spanish  crown,  Castile 
and  Aragon  might  be  called  prosperous.  It  is  clear  that 
all  the  observations  which  Addison  made  in  Italy  tended  5 
to  confirm  him  in  the  political  opinions  which  he  had 
adopted  at  home.  To  the  last,  he  always  spoke  of  foreign 
travel  as  the  best  cure  for  Jacobitism.  In  his  Free- 
holder, the  Tory  foxhunter  asks  what  traveling  is  good 
for  except  to  teach  a  man  to  jabber  French  and  to  talk  10 
against  passive  obedience. 

From  Naples  Addison  returned  to  Rome  by  sea,  along 
the  coast  which  his  favorite  Virgil  had  celebrated.  The 
felucca  passed  the  headland  where  the  oar  and  trumpet 
were  placed  by  the  Trojan  adventurers  on  the  tomb  of  15 
Misenus,  and  anchored  at  night  under  the  shelter  of  the 
fabled  promontory  of  Circe.  The  voyage  ended  in  the 
Tiber,  still  overhung  with  dark  verdure,  and  still  turbid 
with  yellow  sand,  as  when  it  met  the  eyes  of  ^neas. 
From  the  ruined  port  of  Ostia  the  stranger  hurried  to  20 
Rome  ;  and  at  Rome  he  remained  during  those  hot  and 
sickly  months  when,  even  in  the  Augustan  age,  all  who 
could  make  their  escape  fled  from  mad  dogs  and  from 
streets  black  with  funerals,  to  gather  the  first  figs  of  the 
season  in  the  country.  It  is  probable  that  when  he,  long  25 
after,  poured  forth  in  verse  his  gratitude  to  the  Provi- 
dence which  had  enabled  him  to  breathe  unhurt  in  tainted 
air,  he  was  thinking  of  the  August  and  September  which 
he  passed  at  Rome. 

It  was  not  till  the  latter  end  of  October  that  he  tore  30 
himself    away    from    the    masterpieces    of    ancient    and 
modern   art  which  are  collected  in  the  city  so  long  the 
mistress  of   the   world.     He  then  journeyed  northward, 
passed  through    Sienna,    and   for  a   moment   forgot    his 


28         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

prejudices  in  favor  of  classic  architecture  as  he  looked 
on  the  magnificent  cathedral.  At  Florence  he  spent 
some  days  with  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury,  who,  cloyed 
with  the  pleasures  of  ambition  and  impatient  of  its  pains, 

5  fearing  both  parties  and  loving  neither,  had  determined 
to  hide  in  an  Italian  retreat  talents  and  accomplishments 
which,  if  they  had  been  united  with  fixed  principles  and 
civil  courage,  might  have  made  him  the  foremost  man  of 
his  age.    These  days,  we  are  told,  passed  pleasantly;  and 

10  we  can  easily  believe  it.     For  Addison  was  a  delightful 

companion  when    he  was    at   his   ease ;   and  the   Duke, 

though  he  seldom  forgot  that  he  was  a  Talbot,  had  the 

invaluable  art  of  putting  at  ease  all  who  came  near  him. 

Addison  gave  some  time  to  Florence,  and  especially  to 

15  the  sculptures  in  the  Museum,  which  he  preferred  even 
to  those  of  the  Vatican.  He  then  pursued  his  journey 
through  a  country  in  which  the  ravages  of  the  last  war 
were  still  discernible,  and  in  which  all  men  were  looking 
forward   with   dread  to  a  still  fiercer  conflict.      Eugene 

20  had  already  descended  from  the  Rhastian  Alps  to  dis- 
pute with  Catinat  the  rich  plain  of  Lombardy.  The  faith- 
less ruler  of  Savoy  was  still  reckoned  among  the  allies 
of  Louis.  England  had  not  yet  actually  declared  war 
against  France;  but  Manchester  had  left  Paris,  and  the 

25  negotiations  which  produced  the  Grand  Alliance  against 
the  House  of  Bourbon  were  in  progress.  Under  such 
circumstances,  it  was  desirable  for  an  English  traveler  to 
reach  neutral  ground  without  delay.  Addison  resolved 
to  cross  Mont  Cenis.     It  was  December,  and  the  road 

30  was  very  different  from  that  which  now  reminds  the 
stranger  of  the  power  and  genius  of  Napoleon.  The  win- 
ter, however,  was  mild ;  and  the  passage  was,  for  those 
times,  easy.  To  this  journey  Addison  alluded  when,  in 
the  ode  which  we  have  already  quoted,  he  said  that  for 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON         29 

him  the  Divine  goodness  had  warmed  the  hoary  Alpine 
hills.  uy~^^' 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  the  eternal  snow  that  he  com- 
posed  his    Epistle    to   his   friend    Montagu,    now    Lord 
Halifax.     That   Epistle,   once    widely  renowned,  is  now    5 
known  only  to  curious  readers,  and  will  hardly  be  consid- 
ered by  those  to  whom  it  is  known  as  in  any  perceptible 
degree    heightening    Addison's    fame.      It    is,    however, 
decidedly  superior  to  any  English  composition  which  he 
had  previously  published.       Nay,    we    think  it  quite  as  10 
good  as  any  poem  in  heroic  meter  which  appeared  during 
the  interval  between  the  death  of  Dryden  and  the  pub-   '  ^J^<- 
lication  of  the  '  Essay  on  Criticism.'      It  contains  passages 
as  good  as  the  second-rate  passages  of  Pope,  and  would 
have  added  to  the  reputation  of  Parnell  or  Prior.  15 

But  whatever  be  the  literary  merits  or  defects  of  the 
Epistle,  it  undoubtedly  does  honor  to  the  principles  and 
spirit  of  the  author.  Halifax  had  now  nothing  to  give. 
He  had  fallen  from  power,  had  been  held  up  to  obloquy, 
had  been  impeached  by  the  House  of  Commons,  and,  20 
though  his  peers  had  dismissed  the  impeachment,  had, 
as  it  seemed,  little  chance  of  ever  again  filling  high 
office.  The  Epistle,  written  at  such  a  time,  is  one  among 
many  proofs  that  there  was  no  mixture  of  cowardice  or 
meanness  in  the  suavity  and  moderation  which  distin-  25 
guished  Addison  from  all  the  other  public  men  of  those 
stormy  times. 

At  Geneva  the  traveler  learned  that  a  partial  change 
of  ministry  had  taken  place  in  England,  and  that  the 
Earl  of  Manchester  had  become  Secretary  of  State.  30 
Manchester  exerted  himself  to  serve  his  young  friend. 
It  was  thought  advisable  that  an  English  agent  should 
be  near  the  person  of  Eugene  in  Italy;  and  Addison, 
whose   diplomatic   education  was   now  finished,  was  the 


30         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

man  selected.  He  was  preparing  to  enter  on  his  honor- 
able functions,  when  all  his  prospects  were  for  a  time 
darkened  by  the  death  of  William  the  Third. 

Anne  had  long  felt  a  strong  aversion,  personal,  politi- 
5  cal,  and  religious,  to  the  Whig  party.  That  aversion 
appeared  in  the  first  measures  of  her  reign.  Manchester 
was  deprived  of  the  seals,  after  he  had  held  them  only  a 
few  weeks.  Neither  Somers  nor  Halifax  was  sworn  of 
the  Privy  Council.     Addison  shared  the  fate  of  his  three 

lo  patrons.  His  hopes  of  employment  in  the  public  service 
were  at  an  end;  his  pension  was  stopped,  and  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  support  himself  by  his  own  exer- 
tions. He  became  tutor  to  a  young  English  traveler, 
and  appears  to  have  rambled  with  his  pupil  over  a  great 

15  part  of  Switzerland  and  Germany.  At  this  time  he 
wrote  his  pleasing  treatise  on  '  Medals.'  It  was  not 
published  till  after  his  death  ;  but  several  distinguished 
scholars  saw  the  manuscript,  and  gave  just  praise  to  the 
grace  of  the  style,    and  to  the    learning   and  ingenuity 

20  evinced  by  the  quotations. 

From  Germany  Addison  repaired  to  Holland,  where 
he  learned  the  melancholy  news  of  his  father's  death. 
After  passing  some  months  in  the  United  Provinces,  he 
returned,  about  the  close  of  the  year  1703,  to  England. 

25  He  was  there  cordially  received  by  his  friends,  and  intro- 
duced by  them  into  the  Kit-Cat  Club,  a  society  in  which 
were  collected  all  the  various  talents  and  accomplish- 
ments which  then  gave  luster  to  the  Whig  party. 

Addison  was,   during    some   months    after   his    return 

30  from  the  Continent,  hard  pressed  by  pecuniary  difficul- 
ties. But  it  was  soon  in  the  power  of  his  noble  patrons 
to  serve  him  effectually.  A  political  change,  silent  and 
gradual,  but  of  the  highest  importance,  was  in  daily 
progress.     The  accession  of  Anne  had  been  hailed   by 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         31 

the  Tories  with  transports  of  joy  and  hope ;  and  for  a 
time  it  seemed  that  the  Whigs  had  fallen  never  to  rise 
again.  The  throne  was  surrounded  by  men  supposed  to 
be  attached  to  the  prerogative  and  to  the  Church ;  and 
among  these  none  stood  so  high  in  the  favor  of  the  5 
sovereign  as  the  Lord  Treasurer  Godolphin  and  the 
Captain-General  Marlborough. 

The  country  gentlemen  and  country  clergymen  had 
fully  expected  that  the  policy  of  these  ministers  would 
be  directly  opposed  to  that  which  had  been  almost  con-  10 
stantly  followed  by  William ;  that  the  landed  interest 
would  be  favored  at  the  expense  of  trade ;  that  no  addi- 
tion would  be  made  to  the  funded  debt ;  that  the  privileges 
conceded  to  Dissenters  by  the  late  king  would  be  curtailed, 
if  not  withdrawn;  that  the  war  with  France,  if  there  must  15 
be  such  a  war,  would,  on  our  part,  be  almost  entirely  naval ; 
and  that  the  government  would  avoid  close  connections 
with  foreign  powers,  and,  above  all,  with  Holland. 

But  the  country  gentlemen  and  country  clergymen 
were  fated  to  be  deceived,  not  for  the  last  time.  The  20 
prejudices  and  passions  which  raged  without  control  in 
vicarages,  in  cathedral  closes,  and  in  the  manor-houses 
of  fox-hunting  squires,  were  not  shared  by  the  chiefs  of 
the  ministry.  Those  statesmen  saw  that  it  was  both  for 
the  public  interest  and  for  their  own  interest  to  adopt  25 
a  Whig  policy,  at  least  as  respected  the  alliances  of  the 
country  and  the  conduct  of  the  war.  But  if  the  foreign 
policy  of  the  W^higs  were  adopted,  it  was  impossible  to 
abstain  from  adopting  also  their  financial  policy.  The 
natural  consequences  followed.  The  rigid  Tories  were  3° 
alienated  from  the  government.  The  votes  of  the  Whigs 
became  necessary  to  it.  The  votes  of  the  Whigs  could 
be  secured  only  by  further  concessions;  and  further  con- 
cessions the  Queen  was  induced  to  make. 


32         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  year  1704,  the  state  of  parties 
bore  a  close  analogy  to  the  state  of  parties  in  1826.  In 
1826,  as  in  1704,  there  was  a  Tory  ministry  divided  into 
two  hostile  sections.  The  position  of  Mr.  Canning  and 
5  his  friends  in  1826  corresponded  to  that  which  Marl- 
borough and  Godolphin  occupied  in  1704.  Nottingham 
and  Jersey  were  in  1704  what  Lord  Eldon  and  Lord 
Westmoreland  were  in  1826.  The  Whigs  of  1704  were 
in  a  situation   resembling  that  in  which  the  Whigs    of 

10  1826  stood.  In  1704,  Somers,  Halifax,  Sunderland, 
Cowper,  were  not  in  office.  There  was  no  avowed  coali- 
tion between  them  and  the  moderate  Tories.  It  is  prob- 
able that  no  direct  communication  tending  to  such  a 
coalition  had  yet  taken  place  ;  yet  all  men  saw  that  such 

15  a  coalition  was  inevitable,  — nay,  that  it  was  already  half 
formed.  Such,  or  nearly  such,  was  the  state  of  things 
when  tidings  arrived  of  the  great  battle  fought  at  Blen- 
heim on  the  13th  August,  1704.  By  the  Whigs  the 
news  was  hailed  with  transports  of  joy  and  pride.     No 

20  fault,  no  cause  of  quarrel,  could  be  remembered  by  them 
against  the  commander  whose  genius  had,  in  one  day, 
changed  the  face  of  Europe,  saved  the  Imperial  throne, 
humbled  the  House  of  Bourbon,  and  secured  the  Act  of 
Settlement  against  foreign  hostility.     The  feeling  of  the 

25  Tories  was  very  different.  They  could  not,  indeed,  with- 
out imprudence,  openly  express  regret  at  an  event  so 
glorious  to  their  country  ;  but  their  congratulations  were 
so  cold  and  sullen  as  to  give  deep  disgust  to  the  victori- 
ous general  and  his  friends. 

30  Godolphin  was  not  a  reading  man.  Whatever  time  he 
could  spare  from  business  he  was  in  the  habit  of  spend- 
ing at  Newmarket  or  at  the  card  table.  But  he  was  not 
absolutely  indifferent  to  poetry ;  and  he  was  too  intelli- 
gent  an  observer  not   to  perceive   that  literature  was  a 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON         IZ 

formidable  engine  of  political  warfare,  and  that  the  great 
Whig  leaders  had  strengthened  their  party  and  raised 
their  character  by  extending  a  liberal  and  judicious 
patronage  to  good  writers.  He  was  mortified,  and  not 
without  reason,  by  the  exceeding  badness  of  the  poems  5 
which  appeared  in  honor  of  the  battle  of  Blenheim. 
One  of  those  poems  has  been  rescued  from  oblivion  by 
the  exquisite  absurdity  of  three  lines :  — 

*'  Think  of  two  thousand  gentlemen  at  least, 
And  each  man  mounted  on  his  capering  beast ;  10 

Into  the  Danube  they  were  pushed  by  shoals." 

Where  to  procure  better  verses  the  Treasurer  did  not 
know.  He  understood  how  to  negotiate  a  loan  or  remit 
a  subsidy ;  he  was  also  well  versed  in  the  history  of  run- 
ning horses  and  fighting  cocks;  but  his  acquaintance  15 
among  the  poets  was  very  small.  He  consulted  Halifax; 
but  Halifax  affected  to  decline  the  office  of  adviser.  He 
had,  he  said,  done  his  best,  when  he  had  power,  to  en- 
courage men  whose  abilities  and  acquirements  might  do 
honor  to  their  country.  Those  times  were  over.  Other  20 
maxims  had  prevailed.  Merit  was  suffered  to  pine  in 
obscurity;  and  the  public  money  was  squandered  on  the 
undeserving.  "I  do  know,"  he  added,  "  a  gentleman 
who  would  celebrate  the  battle  in  a  manner  worthy  of 
the  subject.  But  I  will  not  name  him."  Godolphin,  25 
who  was  expert  at  the  soft  answer  which  turneth  away 
wrath,  and  who  was  under  the  necessity  of  paying  court 
to  the  Whigs,  gently  replied  that  there  was  too  much 
ground  for  Halifax's  complaints,  but  that  what  was  amiss 
should  in  time  be  rectified,  and  that  in  the  meantime  the  30 
services  of  a  man  such  as  Halifax  had  described  should 
be  liberally  rewarded.  Halifax  then  mentioned  Addison; 
but,  mindful  of  the  dignity  as  well  as  of  the  pecuniary 


34         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

interest  of  his  friend,  insisted  that  the  minister  should 
apply  in  the  most  courteous  manner  to  Addison  himself ; 
and  this  Godolphin  promised  to  do. 

Addison  then  occupied  a  garret  up  three  pairs  of  stairs, 
5  over  a  small  shop  in  the  Haymarket.  In  this  humble 
lodging  he  was  surprised,  on  the  morning  which  followed 
the  conversation  between  Godolphin  and  Halifax,  by  a 
visit  from  no  less  a  person  than  the  Right  Honorable 
Henry  Boyle,   then   Chancellor  of   the    Exchequer,   and 

10  afterwards  Lord  Carleton.  This  high-born  minister  had 
been  sent  by  the  Lord  Treasurer  as  ambassador  to  the 
needy  poet.  Addison  readily  undertook  the  proposed 
task,  —  a  task  which,  to  so  good  a  Whig,  was  probably 
a  pleasure.     When  the  poem  was  little  more  than  half 

15  finished  he  showed  it  to  Godolphin,  who  was  delighted 
with  it,  and  particularly  with  the  famous  similitude  of 
the  angel.  Addison  was  instantly  appointed  to  a  com- 
missionership  worth  about  two  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
and. was    assured    that    this    appointment   was    only   an 

20  earnest  of  greater  favors. 

The  '  Campaign '  came  forth,  and  was  as  much  ad- 
mired by  the  public  as  by  the  minister.  It  pleases  us 
less  on  the  whole  than  the  '  Epistle  to  Halifax.'  Yet  it 
undoubtedly  ranks  high  among  the  poems  which  appeared 

25  during  the  interval  between  the  death  of  Dryden  and  the 
dawn  of  Pope's  genius.  The  chief  merit  of  the  '  Cam- 
paign,' we  think,  is  that  which  was  noticed  by  Johnson, 
the  manly  and  rational  rejection  of  fiction.  The  first 
great  poet  whose  works  have   come  down  to  us  sang  of 

30  war  long  before  war  became  a  science  or  a  trade.  If,  in 
his  time,  there  was  enmity  between  two  little  Greek  towns, 
each  poured  forth  its  crowd  of  citizens,  ignorant  of  dis- 
cipline, and  armed  with  implements  of  labor  rudely  turned 
into   weapons.     On  each   side   appeared  conspicuous   a 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.        35 

few  chiefs,  whose  wealth  had  enabled  them  to  procure 
good  armor,  horses,  and  chariots,  and  whose  leisure  had 
enabled  them  to  practise  military  exercises.  One  such 
chief,  if  he  were  a  man  of  great  strength,  agility,  and 
courage,  would  probably  be  more  formidable  than  twenty  5 
common  men  ;  and  the  force  and  dexterity  with  which 
he  flung  his  spear  might  have  no  inconsiderable  share  in 
deciding  the  event  of  the  day.  Such  were  probably  the 
battles  with  which  Homer  was  familiar.  But  Homer 
related  the  actions  of  men  of  a  former  generation,  —  of  10 
men  who  sprang  from  the  gods,  and  communed  with  the 
gods  face  to  face  ;  of  men  one  of  whom  could  with  ease 
hurl  rocks  which  two  sturdy  hinds  of  a  later  period 
would  be  unable  even  to  lift.  He  therefore  naturally 
represented  their  martial  exploits  as  resembling  in  kind,  15 
but  far  surpassing  in  magnitude,  those  of  the  stoutest 
and  most  expert  combatants  of  his  own  age.  Achilles, 
clad  in  celestial  armor,  drawn  by  celestial  coursers, 
grasping  the  spear  which  none  but  himself  could  raise, 
driving  all  Troy  and  Lycia  before  him,  and  choking  20 
Scamander  with  dead,  was  only  a  magnificent  exaggera- 
tion of  the  real  hero,  who,  strong,  fearless,  accustomed 
to  the  use  of  weapons,  guarded  by  a  shield  and  helmet 
of  the  best  Sidonian  fabric,  and  whirled  along  by  horses 
of  Thessalonian  breed,  struck  down  with  his  own  right  25 
arm  foe  after  foe.  In  all  rude  societies  similar  notions 
are  found.  There  are  at  this  day  countries  where  the 
Life-guardsman  Shaw  would  be  considered  as  a  much 
greater  warrior  than  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  Bona- 
parte loved  to  describe  the  astonishment  with  which  the  3° 
Mamelukes  looked  at  his  diminutive  figure.  Mourad 
Bey,  distinguished  above  all  his  fellows  by  his  bodily 
strength  and  by  the  skill  with  which  he  managed  his 
horse  and  his  saber,  could  not  believe  that  a  man  who 


36          THE    LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

was  scarcely  five  feet  high,  and  rode  like  a  butcher,  could 
be  the  greatest  soldier  in  Europe. 

Homer's  descriptions   of   war  had  therefore  as  much 
truth  as  poetry  requires.     But  truth  was  altogether  want- 

5  ing  to  the  performances  of  those  who,  writing  about  bat- 
tles which  had  scarcely  anything  in  common  with  the 
battles  of  his  times,  servilely  imitated  his  manner.  The 
folly  of  Silius  Italicus,  in  particular,  is  positively  nau- 
seous.    He  undertook  to  record  in  verse  the  vicissitudes 

lo  of  a  great  struggle  between  generals  of  the  first  order ; 
and  his  narrative  is  made  up  of  the  hideous  wounds 
which  these  generals  inflicted  with  their  own  hands. 
Hasdrubal  flings  a  spear,  which  grazes  the  shoulder  of  the 
consul  Nero ;  but  Nero  sends  his  spear  into  Hasdrubal's 

15  side.  Fabius  slays  Thuris  and  Butes  and  Maris  and 
Arses,  and  the  long-haired  Adherbes,  and  the  gigantic 
Thylis,  and  Sapharus  and  Monaesus,  and  the  trumpeter 
Morinus.  Hannibal  runs  Perusinus  through  the  groin 
with  a  stake,  and  breaks  the  backbone  of  Telesinus  with 

20  a  huge  stone.  This  detestable  fashion  was  copied  in 
modern  times,  and  continued  to  prevail  down  to  the  age 
of  Addison.  Several  versifiers  had  described  William 
turning  thousands  to  flight  by  his  single  prowess,  and 
dyeing  the  Boyne  with  Irish  blood.     Nay,  so  estimable 

25  a  writer  as  John  Philips,  the  author  of  the  '  Splendid 
Shilling,'  represented  Marlborough  as  having  won  the 
battle  of  Blenheim  merely  by  strength  of  muscle  and 
skill  in  fence.  The  following  lines  may  serve  as  an 
example :  — 

30  "  Churchill,  viewing  where 

The  violence  of  Tallard  most  prevailed, 
Came  to  oppose  his  slaughtering  arm.     With  speed 
Precipitate  he  rode,  urging  his  way 
O'er  hills  of  gasping  heroes,  and  fallen  steeds 

35  Rolling  in  death.     Destruction,  grim  with  blood, 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.        37 

Attends  his  furious  course.     Around  his  head 

The  glowing  balls  play  innocent,  while  he 

With  dire  impetuous  sway  deals  fatal  blows 

Among  the  flying  Gauls.     In  Gallic  blood 

He  dyes  his  reeking  sword,  and  strews  the  ground  5 

With  headless  ranks.     W^hat  can  they  do  ?    Or  how 

Withstand  his  wide-destroying  sword  ?  " 

Addison,  with  excellent  sense  and  taste,  departed  from 
this  ridiculous  fashion.  He  reserved  his  praise  for  the 
qualities  which  made  Marlborough  truly  great,  ■ —  energy,  10 
sagacity,  military  science.  But  above  all,  the  poet  ex- 
tolled the  firmness  of  that  mind  which,  in  the  midst  of 
confusion,  uproar,  and  slaughter,  examined  and  disposed 
everything  with  the  serene  wisdom  of  a  higher  intelli- 
gence. 15 

Here  it  was  that  he  introduced  the  famous  comparison 
of  Marlborough  to  an  angel  guiding  the  whirlwind.  We 
will  not  dispute  the  general  justice  of  Johnson's  remarks 
on  this  passage.  But  we  must  point  out  one  circum- 
stance which  appears  to  have  escaped  all  the  critics.  20 
The  extraordinary  effect  which  this  simile  produced 
when  it  first  appeared,  and  which  to  the  following  gen- 
eration seemed  inexplicable,  is  doubtless  to  be  chiefly 
attributed  to  a  line  which  most  readers  now  regard  as  a 
feeble  parenthesis: —  25 

"  Such  as,  of  late,  o'er  pale  Britannia  passed." 

Addison  spoke,  not  of  a  storm,  but  of  the  storm.  The 
great  tempest  of  November,  1703,  the  only  tempest  which 
in  our  latitude  has  equaled  the  rage  of  a  tropical  hurri- 
cane, had  left  a  dreadful  recollection  in  the  minds  of  all  30 
men.  No  other  tempest  was  ever  in  this  country  the 
occasion  of  a  parliamentary  address  or  of  a  public  fast. 
Whole  fleets  had  been  cast  away.  Large  mansions  had 
been  blown  down.     One  prelate  had  been  buried  beneath 


38         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

the  ruins  of  his  palace.  London  and  Bristol  had  pre- 
sented the  appearance  of  cities  just  sacked.  Hundreds 
of  families  were  still  in  mourning.  The  prostrate  trunks 
of  large  trees  and  the  ruins  of  houses  still  attested,  in  all 

5  the  southern  counties,  the  fury  of  the  blast.  The  popu- 
larity which  the  simile  of  the  angel  enjoyed  among  Addi- 
son's contemporaries  has  always  seemed  to  us  to  be  a 
remarkable  instance  of  the  advantage  which,  in  rhetoric 
and  poetry,  the  particular  has  over  the  general. 

lo  Soon  after  the  '  Campaign,'  was  published  Addison's 
narrative  of  his  travels  in  Italy.  The  first  effect  pro- 
duced by  this  narrative  was  disappointment.  The  crowd 
of  readers  who  expected  politics  and  scandal,  specula- 
tions on  the  projects  of  Victor  Amadeus,  and  anecdotes 

15  about  the  jollities  of  convents  and  the  amours  of  cardi- 
nals and  nuns,  were  confounded  by  finding  that  the 
writer's  mind  was  much  more  occupied  by  the  war  be- 
tween the  Trojans  and  Rutulians  than  by  the  war  between 
France  and  Austria;  and  that  he  seemed  to  have  heard 

20  no  scandal  of  later  date  than  the  gallantries  of  the  Em- 
press Faustina.  In  time,  however,  the  judgment  of  the 
many  was  overruled  by  that  of  the  few ;  and  before  the 
book  was  reprinted,  it  was  so  eagerly  sought  that  it  sold 
for  five  times  the  original  price.     It  is  still  read  with 

25  pleasure  ;  the  style  is  pure  and  flowing  ;  the  classical 
quotations  and  allusions  are  numerous  and  happy  ;  and 
we  are  now  and  then  charmed  by  that  singularly  humane 
and  delicate  humor  in  which  Addison  excelled  all  men. 
Yet  this  agreeable  work,  even  when  considered  merely 

30  as  the  history  of  a  literary  tour,  may  justly  be  censured 
on  account  of  its  faults  of  omission.  We  have  already 
said  that,  though  rich  in  extracts  from  the  Latin  poets, 
it  contains  scarcely  any  references  to  the  Latin  orators 
and  historians.     We  must  add   that  it  contains  little,  or 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.        39 

rather  no,  information  respecting  the  history  and  litera- 
ture of  modern  Italy.  To  the  best  of  our  remembrance, 
Addison  does  not  mention  Dante,  Petrarch,  Boccaccio, 
Boiardo,  Berni,  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  or  Machiavelli.  He 
coldly  tells  us  that  at  Ferrara  he  saw  the  tomb  of  Ariosto,  5 
and  that  at  Venice  he  heard  the  gondoliers  sing  verses  of 
Tasso.  But  for  Tasso  and  Ariosto  he  cared  far  less  than 
for  Valerius  Flaccus  and  Sidonius  Apollinaris.  The 
gentle  flow  of  the  Ticin  brings  a  line  of  Silius  to  his  mind. 
The  sulphurous  steam  of  Albula  suggests  to  him  several  10 
passages  of  Martial.  But  he  has  not  a  word  to  say  of 
the  illustrious  dead  of  Santa  Croce ;  he  crosses  the  wood 
of  Ravenna  without  irecollecting  the  Specter  Huntsman, 
and  wanders  up  and  down  Rimini  without  one  thought  of 
Francesca.  At  Paris  he  had  eagerly  sought  an  introduc-  15 
tion  to  Boileau  ;  but  he  seems  not  to  have  been  at  all 
aware  that  at  Florence  he  was  in  the  vicinity  of  a  poet 
with  whom  Boileau  could  not  sustain  a  comparison, — of 
the  greatest  lyric  poet  of  modern  times,  Vincenzio  Fili- 
caja.  This  is  the  more  remarkable  because  Filicaja  was  20 
the  favorite  poet  of  the  accomplished  Somers,  under 
whose  protection  Addison  traveled,  and  to  whom  the 
account  of  the  travels  is  dedicated.  The  truth  is,  that 
Addison  knew  little,  and  cared  less,  about  the  literature 
of  modern  Italy.  His  favorite  models  were  Latin.  His  25 
favorite  critics  were  French.  Half  the  Tuscan  poetry 
that  he  had  read  seemed  to  him  monstrous,  and  the  other 
half  tawdry. 

His  '  Travels '  were  followed  by  the  lively  opera  of  '  Ros- 
amond.' This  piece  was  ill  set  to  music,  and  therefore  30 
failed  on  the  stage ;  but  it  completely  succeeded  in  print, 
and  is  indeed  excellent  in  its  kind.  The  smoothness 
with  which  the  verses  glide,  and  the  elasticity  with  which 
they  bound,  are,  to  our  ears  at  least,  very  pleasing.     We 


40         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

are  inclined  to  think  that  if  Addison  had  left  heroic 
couplets  to  Pope,  and  blank  verse  to  Rowe,  and  had  em- 
ployed himself  in  writing  airy  and  spirited  songs,  his 
reputation  as  a  poet  would  have  stood  far  higher  than  it 
5  now  does.  Some  years  after  his  death,  '  Rosamond '  was 
set  to  new  music  by  Doctor  Arne,  and  was  performed 
with  complete  success.  Several  passages  long  retained 
their  popularity,  and  were  daily  sung,  during  the  latter 
part  of  George  the  Second's  reign,  at  all  the  harpsichords 

lo  in  England. 

While  Addison  thus  amused  himself,  his  prospects, 
and  the  prospects  of  his  party,  were  constantly  becoming 
brighter  and  brighter.  In  the  spring  of  1705  the  minis- 
ters were  freed  from  the  restraint  imposed  by  a  House  of 

15  Commons  in  which  Tories  of  the  most  perverse  class  had 
the  ascendency.  The  elections  were  favorable  to  the 
Whigs.  The  coalition  which  had  been  tacitly  and  gradu- 
ally formed  was  now  openly  avowed.  The  Great  Seal  was 
given  to  Cowper.     Somers  and  Halifax  were  sworn  of  the 

20  Council.  Halifax  was  sent  in  the  following  year  to  carry 
the  decorations  of  the  Order  of  the  Garter  to  the  Electoral 
Prince  of  Hanover,  and  was  accompanied  on  his  honor- 
able mission  by  Addison,  who  had  just  been  made  Under- 
secretary of  State.      The  Secretary  of  State  under  whom 

25  Addison  first  served  was  Sir  Charles  Hedges,  a  Tory. 
But  Hedges  was  soon  dismissed  to  make  room  for  the 
most  vehement  of  Whigs,  Charles,  Earl  of  Sunderland. 
In  every  department  of  the  State,  indeed,  the  High 
Churchmen  were  compelled  to  give  place  to  their  oppo- 

30  nents.  At  the  close  of  1707  the  Tories  who  still  remained 
in  office  strove  to  rally,  with  Harley  at  their  head.  But 
the  attempt,  though  favored  by  the  Queen,  who  had  al- 
ways been  a  Tory  at  heart,  and  who  had  now  quarreled 
with   the    Duchess    of    Marlborough,    was  unsuccessful. 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         41 

The  time  was  not  yet.  The  Captain-General  was  at  the 
height  of  popularity  and  glory.  The  Low  Church  party 
had  a  majority  in  Parliament.  The  country  squires  and 
rectors,  though  occasionally  uttering  a  savage  growl,  were 
for  the  most  part  in  a  state  of  torpor,  which  lasted  till  s 
they  were  roused  into  activity,  and  indeed  into  madness, 
by  the  prosecution  of  Sacheverell.  Harley  and  his  ad- 
herents were  compelled  to  retire.  The  victory  of  the 
Whigs  was  complete.  At  the  general  election  of  1708, 
their  strength  in  the  House  of  Commons  became  irresist-  10 
ible ;  and  before  the  end  of  that  year,  Somers  was  made 
Lord  President  of  the  Council,  and  Wharton  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant of  Ireland. 

Addison  sat  for  Malmesburyin  the  House  of  Commons 
which  was  elected  in  1708.  But  the  House  of  Com-  15 
mons  was  not  the  field  for  him.  The  bashfulness  of  his 
nature  made  his  wit  and  eloquence  useless  in  debate. 
He  once  rose,  but  could  not  overcome  his  diffidence,  and 
ever  after  remained  silent.  Nobody  can  think  it  strange 
that  a  great  writer  should  fail  as  a  speaker.  But  many,  20 
probably,  will  think  it  strange  that  Addison's  failure  as  a 
speaker  should  have  had  no  unfavorable  effect  on  his  suc- 
cess as  a  politician.  In  our  time,  a  man  of  high  rank  and 
great  fortune  might,  though  speaking  very  little  and  very 
ill,  hold  a  considerable  post.  But  it  would  now  be  incon-  25 
ceivable  that  a  mere  adventurer,  a  man  who,  when  out  of 
office,  must  live  by  his  pen,  should  in  a  few  years  become 
successively  Undersecretary  of  State,  Chief  Secretary  for 
Ireland,  and  Secretary  of  State,  without  some  oratorical 
talent.  Addison,  without  high  birth  and  with  little  3° 
property,  rose  to  a  post  which  dukes,  the  heads  of  the 
great  houses  of  Talbot,  Russell,  and  Bentinck,  have 
thought  it  an  honor  to  fill.  Without  opening  his  lips  in 
debate,  he  rose  to  a  post  the  highest  that  Chatham  or 


42         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

Fox  ever  reached.  And  this  he  did  before  he  had  been 
nine  years  in  Parliament.  We  must  look  for  the  expla- 
nation of  this  seeming  miracle  to  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances in  which  that  generation  was  placed.     During  the 

5  interval  which  elapsed  between  the  time  when  the  censor- 
ship of  the  press  ceased  and  the  time  when  parliamentary 
proceedings  began  to  be  freely  reported,  literary  talents 
were,  to  a  public  man,  of  much  more  importance,  and 
oratorical  talents  of  much  less  importance,  than  in  our 

10  time.  At  present,  the  best  way  of  giving  rapid  and  wide 
publicity  to  a  fact  or  an  argument  is  to  introduce  that 
fact  or  argument  into  a  speech  made  in  Parliament.  If  a 
political  tract  were  to  appear  superior  to  the  '  Conduct 
of  the  Allies,'  or  to  the  best  numbers  of  the  Freeholder, 

15  the  circulation  of  such  a  tract  would  be  languid  indeed 
when  compared  with  the  circulation  of  every  remarkable 
word  uttered  in  the  deliberations  of  the  legislature.  A 
speech  made  in  the  House  of  Commons  at  four  in  the 
morning  is  on  thirty  thousand  tables  before  ten.    A  speech 

20  made  on  the  Monday  is  read  on  the  Wednesday  by  mul- 
titudes in  Antrim  and  Aberdeenshire.  The  orator,  by 
the  help  of  the  shorthand  writer,  has  to  a  great  extent 
superseded  the  pamphleteer.  It  was  not  so  in  the  reign 
of  Anne.     The  best  speech  could  then  produce  no  effect 

25  except  on  those  who  heard  it.  It  was  only  by  means  of 
the  press  that  the  opinion  of  the  public  without  doors 
could  be  influenced  ;  and  the  opinion  of  the  public  with- 
out doors  could  not  but  be  of  the  highest  importance  in  a 
country  governed  by  parliaments,  and  indeed  at  that  time 

30  governed  by  triennial  parliaments.  The  pen  was,  there- 
fore, a  more  formidable  political  engine  than  the  tongue. 
Mr.  Pitt  and  Mr.  Fox  contended  only  in  Parliament. 
But  Walpole  and  Pulteney,  the  Pitt  and  Fox  of  an  earlier 
period,  had  not  done   half  of  what  was  necessary  when 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.        43 

they  sat  down  amidst  the  acclamations  of  the  House  of 
Commons.  They  had  still  to  plead  their  cause  before 
the  country,  and  this  they  could  only  do  by  means  of 
the  press.  Their  works  are  now  forgotten.  But  it  is 
certain  that  there  were  in  Grub  Street  few  more  assiduous  s 
scribblers  of  Thoughts,  Letters,  Answers,  Remarks,  than 
these  two  great  chiefs  of  parties.  Pulteney,  when  leader 
of  the  Opposition  and  possessed  of  thirty  thousand  a 
year,  edited  the  Craftsman.  Walpole,  though  not  a  man 
of  literary  habits,  was  the  author  of  at  least  ten  pam-  lo 
phlets,  and  retouched  and  corrected  many  more.  These 
facts  sufficiently  show  of  how  great  importance  literary 
assistance  then  was  to  the  contending  parties.  St.  John 
was  certainly,  in  Anne's  reign,  the  best  Tory  speaker; 
Cowper  was  probably  the  best  Whig  speaker.  But  it  may  15 
well  be  doubted  whether  St.  John  did  so  much  for  the 
Tories  as  Swift,  and  whether  Cowper  did  so  much  for 
the  Whigs  as  Addison.  When  these  things  are  duly  con- 
sidered, it  will  not  be  thought  strange  that  Addison 
should  have  climbed  higher  in  the  State  than  any  other  20 
Englishman  has  ever,  by  means  merely  of  literary  talents, 
been  able  to  climb.  Swift  would,  in  all  probability,  have 
climbed  as  high  if  he  had  not  been  encumbered  by  his 
cassock  and  his  pudding  sleeves.  As  far  as  the  homage 
of  the  great  went.  Swift  had  as  much  of  it  as  if  he  had  25 
been  Lord  Treasurer. 

To  the  influence  which  Addison  derived  from  his  liter- 
ary talents  was  added  all  the  influence  which  arises  from 
character.  The  world,  always  ready  to  think  the  worst 
of  needy  political  adventurers,  was  forced  to  make  one  30 
exception.  Restlessness,  violence,  audacity,  laxity  of 
principle,  are  the  vices  ordinarily  attributed  to  that  class 
of  men.  But  faction  itself  could  not  deny  that  Addison 
had,  through  all  changes  of  fortune,  been  strictly  faithful 


44         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

to  his  early  opinions  and  to  his  early  friends ;  that  his 
integrity  was  without  stain ;  that  his  whole  deportment 
indicated  a  fine  sense  of  the  becoming;  that  in  the  utmost 
heat  of  controversy,  his  zeal  was  tempered  by  a  regard 
5  for  truth,  humanity,  and  social  decorum  ;  that  no  outrage 
could  ever  provoke  him  to  retaliation  unworthy  of  a 
Christian  and  a  gentleman  ;  and  that  his  only  faults  were 
a  too  sensitive  delicacy,  and  a  modesty  which  amounted 
to  bashfulness. 

lo  He  was  undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  popular  men  of 
his  time  ;  and  much  of  his  popularity  he  owed,  we  believe, 
to  that  very  timidity  which  his  friends  lamented.  That 
timidity  often  prevented  him  from  exhibiting  his  talents 
to  the  best  advantage.     But  it  propitiated  Nemesis.     It 

15  averted  that  envy  which  would  otherwise  have  been 
excited  by  fame  so  splendid,  and  by  so  rapid  an  eleva- 
tion. No  man  is  so  great  a  favorite  with  the  public  as  he 
who  is  at  once  an  object  of  admiration,  of  respect,  and  of 
pity;  and  such  were  the  feelings  which  Addison  inspired. 

20  Those  who  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  hearing  his  familiar 
conversation  declared  with  one  voice  that  it  was  superior 
even  to  his  writings.  The  brilliant  Mary  Montagu  said 
that  she  had  known  all  the  wits,  and  that  Addison  was 
the  best  company  in  the  world.     The   malignant   Pope 

25  was  forced  to  own  that  there  was  a  charm  in  Addison's 
talk  which  could  be  found  nowhere  else.  Swift,  when 
burning  with  animosity  against  the  Whigs,  could  not  but 
confess  to  Stella  that,  after  all,  he  had  never  known  any 
associate  so  agreeable  as  Addison.     Steele,  an  excellent 

30  judge  of  lively  conversation,  said  that  the  conversation  of 
Addison  was  at  once  the  most  polite  and  the  most  mirth- 
ful that  could  be  imagined ;  that  it  was  Terence  and 
Catullus  in  one,  heightened  by  an  exquisite  something 
which  was  neither  Terence    nor  Catullus,   but  Addison 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON         45 

alone.  Young,  an  excellent  judge  of  serious  conversation, 
said  that  when  Addison  was  at  his  ease  he  went  on  in  a 
noble  strain  of  thought  and  language,  so  as  to  chain  the 
attention  of  every  hearer.  Nor  were  Addison's  great  col- 
loquial powers  more  admirable  than  the  courtesy  and  5 
softness  of  heart  which  appeared  in  his  conversation.  At 
the  same  time,  it  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  he  was 
wholly  devoid  of  the  malice  which  is,  perhaps,  insepara- 
ble from  a  keen  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  He  had  one 
habit  which  both  Swift  and  Stella  applauded,  and  which  10 
we  hardly  know  how  to  blame.  If  his  first  attempts  to 
set  a  presuming  dunce  right  were  ill  received,  he  changed 
his  tone,  "  assented  with  civil  leer,"  and  lured  the  flattered 
coxcomb  deeper  and  deeper  into  absurdity.  That  such 
was  his  practice  we  should,  we  think,  have  guessed  from  15 
his  works.  The  Tatler's  criticisms  on  Mr.  Softly's  sonnet, 
and  the  Spectator's  dialogue  with  the  politician  who  is  so 
zealous  for  the  honor  of  Lady  Q — p — t — s,  are  excellent 
specimens  of  this  innocent  mischief. 

Such  were  Addison's  talents  for  conversation.     But  his  20 
rare  gifts  were  not  exhibited  to  crowds  or  to  strangers. 
As  soon  as  he  entered  a  large  company,  as  soon  as  he 
saw  an  unknown  face,  his  lips  were  sealed,  and  his  man- 
ners became  constrained.     None  who  met  him  only  in 
great  assemblies  would  have  been  able  to  believe  that  he  25 
was  the  same  man  who  had  often  kept  a  few  friends  lis- 
tening and  laughing  round  a  table  from  the  time  when 
the  play   ended  till  the  clock  of    St.  Paul's  in  Covent 
Garden  struck  four.    Yet  even  at  such  a  table  he  was  not 
seen  to  the  best  advantage.     To  enjoy  his  conversation  3° 
in  the  highest  perfection,  it  was  necessary  to  be  alone 
with  him,  and  to  hear  him,  in  his  own  phrase,  think  aloud. 
''  There   is  no  such    thing,"   he   used   to    say,   "  as   real 
conversation,  but  between  two  persons." 


46         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

This  timidity  —  a  timidity  surely  neither  ungraceful  nor 

unamiable  —  led  Addison  into  the  two  most  serious  faults 

which  can  with  justice  be  imputed  to  him.    He  found  that 

wine  broke  the  spell  which  lay  on  his  fine  intellect,  and 

5  was  therefore  too  easily  seduced  into  convivial  excess. 

Such  excess  was  in  that  age  regarded,  even  by  grave 

men,  as  the  most  venial  of  all  peccadilloes,  and  was  so 

far  from  being  a  mark  of  ill-breeding  that  it  was  almost 

essential  to  the  character  of  a  fine  gentleman.     But  the 

10  smallest  speck  is  seen  on  a  white  ground ;  and  almost  all 

the  biographers  of  Addison  have  said  something  about 

this  failing.     Of  any  other  statesman  or  writer  of  Queen 

Anne's  reign,  we  should  no  more  think  of  saying  that  he 

sometimes  took  too  much  wine  than  that  he  wore  a  long 

15  wig  and  a  sword. 

To  the  excessive  modesty  of  Addison's  nature  we  must 
ascribe  another  fault  which  generally  arises  from  a  very 
different  cause.  He  became  a  little  too  fond  of  seeing 
himself  surrounded  by  a  small  circle  of  admirers,  to  whom 
20  he  was  as  a  king,  or  rather  as  a  god.  All  these  men  w^ere 
far  inferior  to  him  in  ability,  and  some  of  them  had  very 
serious  faults.  Nor  did  those  faults  escape  his  observa- 
tion ;  for  if  ever  there  was  an  eye  which  saw  through  and 
through  men,  it  was  the  eye  of  Addison.  But  with  the 
'25  keenest  observation,  and  the  finest  sense  of  the  ridiculous, 
he  had  a  large  charity.  The  feeling  with  which  he  looked 
on  most  of  his  humble  companions  was  one  of  benevo- 
lence, slightly  tinctured  with  contempt.  He  was  at  per- 
fect ease  in  their  company ;  he  was  grateful  for  their 
30  devoted  attachment;  and  he  loaded  them  with  benefits. 
Their  veneration  for  him  appears  to  have  exceeded  that 
with  which  Johnson  was  regarded  by  Bos  well,  or  Warbur- 
ton  by  Hurd.  It  was  not  in  the  power  of  adulation  to 
turn  such  a  head  or  deprave  such  a  heart  as  Addison's. 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON        47 

But  it  must  in  candor  be  admitted  that  he  contracted 
some  of  the  faults  which  can  scarcely  be  avoided  by  any 
person  who  is  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  the  oracle  of  a 
small  literary  coterie. 

One  member  of  this  little  society  was  Eustace  Budgell,  $ 
a  young  Templar  of  some  literature,  and  a  distant  relation 
of  Addison.  There  was  at  this  time  no  stain  on  the  char- 
acter of  Budgell,  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  his  career 
would  have  been  prosperous  and  honorable  if  the  life  of 
his  cousin  had  been  prolonged.  But  when  the  master  lo 
was  laid  in  the  grave,  the  disciple  broke  loose  from  all 
restraint,  descended  rapidly  from  one  degree  of  vice  and 
misery  to  another,  ruined  his  fortune  by  follies,  attempted 
to  repair  it  by  crimes,  and  at  length  closed  a  wicked 
and  unhappy  life  by  self-murder.  Yet,  to  the  last,  the  15 
wretched  man,  gambler,  lampooner,  cheat,  forger  as  he 
was,  retained  his  affection  and  veneration  for  Addison, 
and  recorded  those,  feelings  in  the  last  lines  which  he 
traced  before  he  hid  himself  from  infamy  under  London 
Bridge.  20 

Another  of  Addison's  favorite  companions  was  Am- 
brose Philips,  a  good  Whig  and  a  middling  poet,  who 
had  the  honor  of  bringing  into  fashion  a  species  of  com- 
position which  has  been  called,  after  his  name,  Namby- 
Pamby.  But  the  most  remarkable  members  of  the  little  25 
senate,  as  Pope  long  afterwards  called  it,  were  Richard 
Steele  and  Thomas  Tickell. 

Steele  had  known  Addison  from  childhood.  They  had 
been  together  at  the  Charterhouse  and  at  Oxford ;  but 
circumstances  had  then,  for  a  time,  separated  them  widely.  3° 
Steele  had  left  college  without  taking  a  degree,  had  been 
disinherited  by  a  rich  relation,  had  led  a  vagrant  life,  had 
served  in  the  army,  had  tried  to  find  the  philosopher's 
stone,  and  had  written  a  religious  treatise  and  several 


48         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITIATGS   OF  ADDISON. 

comedies.  He  was  one  of  those  people  whom  it  is  impos- 
sible either  to  hate  or  to  respect.  His  temper  was  sweet, 
his  affections  warm,  his  spirits  lively,  his  passions  strong, 
and  his  principles  weak.  His  life  was  spent  in  sinning 
5  and  repenting ;  in  inculcating  what  was  right,  and  doing 
what  was  wrong.  In  speculation,  he  was  a  man  of  piety 
and  honor;  in  practice,  he  was  much  of  the  rake,  and  a 
little  of  the  swindler.  He  was,  however,  so  good-natured 
that  it  was  not  easy  to  be  seriously  angry  with  him,  and 

10  that  even  rigid  moralists  felt  more  inclined  to  pity  than  to 
blame  him,  when  he  diced  himself  into  a  spunging-house, 
or  drank  himself  into  a  fever.  Addison  regarded  Steele 
with  kindness  not  unmingled  with  scorn  ;  tried,  with  little 
success,  to  keep  him  out  of  scrapes  ;  introduced  him  to 

15  the  great ;  procured  a  good  place  for  him  ;  corrected  his 
plays ;  and,  though  by  no  means  rich,  lent  him  large  sums 
of  money.  One  of  these  loans  appears,  from  a  letter 
dated  in  August,  1708,  to  have  amounted  to  a  thousand 
pounds.     These  pecuniary  transactions  probably  led   to 

20  frequent  bickerings.  It  is  said  that  on  one  occasion 
Steele's  negligence,  or  dishonesty,  provoked  Addison  to 
repay  himself  by  the  help  of  a  bailiff.  We  cannot  join 
with  Miss  Aikin  in  rejecting  this  story.  Johnson  heard  it 
from  Savage,  who  heard  it  from   Steele.      Few  private 

25  transactions  which  took  place  a  hundred  and  twenty  years 
ago  are  proved  by  stronger  evidence  than  this.  But  we 
can  by  no  means  agree  with  those  who  condemn  Addison's 
severity.  The  most  amiable  of  mankind  may  well  be 
moved  to  indignation  when  what  he  has  earned  hardly, 

30  and  lent  with  great  inconvenience  to  himself,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  relieving  a  friend  in  distress,  is  squandered  with 
insane  profusion.  We  will  illustrate  our  meaning  by  an 
example  which  is  not  the  less  striking  because  it  is  taken 
from  fiction.      Dr.   Harrison,    in  Fielding's  '  Amelia,'  is 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         49 

represented  as  the  most  benevolent  of  human  beings  ;  yet 
he  takes  in  execution,  not  only  the  goods,  but  the  person 
of  his  friend  Booth.  Dr.  Harrison  resorts  to  this  strong 
measure  because  he  has  been  informed  that  Booth,  while 
pleading  poverty  as  an  excuse  for  not  paying  just  debts,  5 
has  been  buying  fine  jewelry  and  setting  up  a  coach.  No 
person  who  is  well  acquainted  with  Steele's  life  and  cor- 
respondence can  doubt  that  he  behaved  quite  as  ill  to 
Addison  as  Booth  was  accused  of  behaving  to  Dr.  Harri- 
son. The  real  history,  we  have  little  doubt,  was  some-  10 
thing  like  this  :  A  letter  comes  to  Addison,  imploring  help 
in  pathetic  terms,  and  promising  reformation  and  speedy 
repayment  Poor  Dick  declares  that  he  has  not  an  inch 
of  candle,  or  a  bushel  of  coals,  or  credit  with  the  butcher 
for  a  shoulder  of  mutton.  Addison  is  moved.  He  deter-  15 
mines  to  deny  himself  some  medals  which  are  wanting  to 
his  series  of  the  Twelve  Caesars  ;  to  put  off  buying  the 
new  edition  of  Bayle's  Dictionary;  and  to  wear  his  old 
sword  and  buckles  another  year.  In  this  way  he  manages 
to  send  a  hundred  pounds  to  his  friend.  The  next  day  20 
he  calls  on  Steele,  and  finds  scores  of  gentlemen  and 
ladies  assembled.  The  fiddles  are  playing.  The  table  is 
groaning  under  champagne,  burgundy,  and  pyramids  of 
sweetmeats.  Is  it  strange  that  a  man  whose  kindness  is 
thus  abused  should  send  sheriff's  officers  to  reclaim  what  25 
is  due  to  him  .'' 

Tickell  was  a  young  man,  fresh  from  Oxford,  who  had 
introduced  himself  to  public  notice  by  writing  a  most 
ingenious  and  graceful  little  poem  in  praise  of  the  opera 
of  '  Rosamond.'  He  deserved,  and  at  length  attained,  3° 
the  first  place  in  Addison's  friendship.  For  a  time  Steele 
and  Tickell  were  on  good  terms.  But  they  loved  Addison 
too  much  to  love  each  other,  and  at  length  became  as 
bitter  enemies  as  the  rival  bulls  in  Virgil. 


50         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

At  the  close  of  1708  Wharton  became  Lord  Lieutenant 
of  Ireland,  and  appointed  Addison  Chief  Secretary.  Addi- 
son was  consequently  under  the  necessity  of  quitting 
London  for  Dublin.  Besides  the  chief-secretaryship,  which 
5  was  then  worth  about  two  thousand  pounds  a  year,  he 
obtained  a  patent  appointing  him  Keeper  of  the  Irish 
Records  for  life,  with  a  salary  of  three  or  four  hundred  a 
year.  Budgell  accompanied  his  cousin  in  the  capacity  of 
private  secretary. 

10  Wharton  and  Addison  had  nothing  in  common  but 
Whiggism.  The  Lord  Lieutenant  was  not  only  licentious 
and  corrupt,  but  was  distinguished  from  other  libertines 
and  jobbers  by  a  callous  impudence  which  presented  the 
strongest  contrast  to  the  Secretary's  gentleness  and  deli- 

15  cacy.  Many  parts  of  the  Irish  administration  at  this  time 
appear  to  have  deserved  serious  blame.  But  against 
Addison  there  was  not  a  murmur.  He  long  afterwards 
asserted,  what  all  the  evidence  which  we  have  ever  seen 
tends  to  prove,  that  his  diligence  and  integrity  gained  the 

20  friendship  of  all  the  most  considerable  persons  in  Ireland. 

The  parliamentary  career  of  Addison  in  Ireland  has, 

we  think,  wholly  escaped  the  notice  of  all  his  biographers. 

He  was  elected  member  for  the  borough  of  Cavan  in  the 

summer  of  1709  ;  and  in  the  journals  of  two  sessions  his 

25  name  frequently  occurs.  Some  of  the  entries  appear  to 
indicate  that  he  so  far  overcame  his  timidity  as  to  make 
speeches.  Nor  is  this  by  any  means  improbable  ;  for  the 
Irish  House  of  Commons  was  a.  far  less  formidable  audi- 
ence than  the  English  House  ;  and  many  tongues  which 

30  were  tied  by  fear  in  the  greater  assembly  became  fluent 
in  the  smaller.  Gerard  Hamilton,  for  example,  who,  from 
fear  of  losing  the  fame  gained  by  his  single  speech,  sat 
mute  at  Westminster  during  forty  years,  spoke  with  great 
effect  at  Dublin  when  he  was  secretary  to  Lord  Halifax. 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         51 

While  Addison  was  in  Ireland  an  event  occurred  to 
which  he  owes  his  high  and  permanent  rank  among 
British  writers.  As  yet  his  fame  rested  on  performances 
which,  though  highly  respectable,  were  not  built  for  dura- 
tion, and  which  would,  if  he  had  produced  nothing  else,  5 
have  now  been  almost  forgotten — on  some  excellent  Latin 
verses,  on  some  English  verses  which  occasionally  rose 
above  mediocrity,  and  on  a  book  of  travels,  agreeably 
written,  but  not  indicating  any  extraordinary  powers  of 
mind.  These  works  showed  him  to  be  a  man  of  taste,  10 
sense,  and  learning.  The  time  had  come  when  he  was 
to  prove  himself  a  man  of  genius,  and  to  enrich  our  liter- 
ature with  compositions  which  will  live  as  long  as  the 
English  language. 

In  the  spring  of  1709  Steele  formed  a  literary  project  15 
of  which  he  was  far  indeed  from  foreseeing  the  conse- 
quences. Periodical  papers  had  during  many  years  been 
published  in  London.  Most  of  these  were  political ;  but 
in  some  of  them  questions  of  morality,  taste,  and  love- 
casuistry  had  been  discussed.  The  literary  merit  of  these  20 
works  was  small  indeed ;  and  even  their  names  are  now 
known  only  to  the  curious. 

Steele  had  been  appointed  Gazetteer  by  Sunderland,  at 
the  request,  it  is  said,  of  Addison,  and  thus  had  access  to 
foreign  intelligence  earlier  and  more  authentic  than  was  25 
in  those  times  within  the  reach  of  an  ordinary  news- 
writer.  This  circumstance  seems  to  have  suggested  to 
him  the  scheme  of  publishing  a  periodical  paper  on  a 
new  plan.  It  was  to  appear  on  the  days  on  which  the 
post  left  London  for  the  country,  which  were,  in  that  3° 
generation,  the  Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Saturdays.  It 
v^as  to  contain  the  foreign  news,  accounts  of  theatrical 
representations,  and  the  literary  gossip  of  Will's  and  of 
the  Grecian.     It  was  also  to  contain  remarks  on  the  fash- 


52         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

ionable  topics  of  the  day,  compliments  to  beauties,  pas- 
quinades on  noted  sharpers,  and  criticisms  on  popular 
preachers.  The  aim  of  Steele  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  at  first  higher  than  this.  He  was  not  ill  qualified 
5  to  conduct  the  work  which  he  had  planned.  His  public 
intelligence  he  drew  from  the  best  sources.  He  knew  the 
town,  and  had  paid  dear  for  his  knowledge.  He  had 
read  much  more  than  the  dissipated  men  of  that  time 
were  in  the   habit  of  reading.     He  was  a   rake   among 

lo  scholars,  and  a  scholar  among  rakes.  His  style  was  easy 
and  not  incorrect ;  and  though  his  wit  and  humor  were 
of  no  high  order,  his  gay  animal  spirits  imparted  to  his 
compositions  an  air  of  vivacity  which  ordinary  readers 
could  hardly  distinguish  from  comic  genius.    His  writings 

15  have  been  well  compared  to  those  light  wines  which, 
though  deficient  in  body  and  flavor,  are  yet  a  pleasant 
small  drink,  if  not  kept  too  long  or  carried  too  far. 

Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire,  Astrologer,  was  an  imaginary 
person,  almost  as  well  known  in  that  age  as  Mr.  Paul  Pry 

20  or  Mr.  Samuel  Pickwick  in  ours.  Swift  had  assumed  the 
name  of  Bickerstaff  in  a  satirical  pamphlet  against  Par- 
tridge, the  maker  of  almanacs.  Partridge  had  been  fool 
enough  to  publish  a  furious  reply.  Bickerstaff  had  rejoined 
in  a  second  pamphlet  still  more  diverting  than  the  first. 

25  All  the  wits  had  combined  to  keep  up  the  joke,  and  the 
town  was  long  in  convulsions  of  laughter.  Steele  deter- 
mined to  employ  the  name  which  this  controversy  had 
made  popular ;  and  in  April,  1709,  it  was  announced  that 
Isaac  Bickerstaff,  Esquire,  Astrologer,  was  about  to  pub- 

30  lish  a.  paper  called  the  Tatler. 

Addison  had  not  been  consulted  about  this  scheme;  but 
as  soon  as  he  heard  of  it  he  determined  to  give  his  assist- 
ance. The  effect  of  that  assistance  cannot  be  better 
described  than  in  Steele's  own  words.    "I  fared,"  he  said, 


THE    LIFE   AiVD   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         53 

"like  a  distressed  prince  who  calls  in  a  powerful  neighbor 
to  his  aid.  I  was  undone  by  my  auxiliary.  When  I  had 
once  called  him  in,  I  could  not  subsist  without  dependence 
on  him."  "The  paper,"  he  says  elsewhere,  "was  advanced 
indeed.  It  was  raised  to  a  greater  thing  than  I  intended  s 
it." 

It  is  probable  that  Addison,  when  he  sent  across  St. 
George's  Channel  his  first  contributions  to  the  Tatk?-,  had 
no  notion  of  the  extent  and  variety  of  his  own  powers. 
He  was  the  possessor  of  a  vast  mine,  rich  with  a  hundred  lo 
ores.  But  he  had  been  acquainted  only  with  the  least 
precious  part  of  his  treasures,  and  had  hitherto  contented 
himself  with  producing  sometimes  copper  and  sometimes 
lead,  intermingled  with  a  little  silver.  All  at  once,  and  by 
mere  accident,  he  had  lighted  on  an  inexhaustible  vein  of  15 
the  finest  gold. 

The  mere  choice  and  arrangement  of  his  words  would 
have  sufficed  to  make  his  essays  classical.    For  never,  not 
even  by  Dryden,  not  even  by  Temple,  had  the  English 
language  been  written  with  such  sweetness,   grace,  and  20 
facility.      But   this   was   the   smallest  part  of   Addison's 
praise.     Had  he  clothed  his  thoughts  in  the  half  French 
style  of  Horace  Walpole,  or  in  the  half  Latin  style  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  or  in  the  half  German  jargon  of  the  present  day, 
his  genius  would  have  triumphed  over  all  faults  of  man-  25 
ner.     As  a  moral  satirist  he  stands  unrivaled.     If  ever 
the    best   Tatlers  and    Spectators   were   equaled    in  their 
own  kind,  we  should  be  inclined  to  guess  that  it  must     / 
have  been  by  the  lost  comedies  of  Menander. 

In  wit,  properly  so  called,  Addison  was  not  inferior  to  30 
Cowley  or  Butler.     No  single  ode  of  Cowley  contains  so 
many  happy  analogies  as  are  crowded  into  the  lines  to  Sir 
Godfrey  Kneller;  and  we  would  undertake  to  collect  from 
the  Spectators  as  great  a  number  of  ingenious  illustrations 


54         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

as  can  be  found  in  '  Hudibras.'  The  still  higher  faculty 
of  invention  Addison  possessed  in  still  larger  measure. 
The  numerous  fictions,  generally  original,  often  wild  and 
grotesque,  but  always  singularly  graceful  and  happy,  which 
5  are  found  in  his  essays,  fully  entitle  him  to  the  rank  of  a 
great  poet  —  a  rank  to  which  his  metrical  compositions  give 
him  no  claim.  As  an  observer  of  life,  of  manners,  of  all 
the  shades  of  human  character,  he  stands  in  the  first  class. 
And  what  he  observed  he  had  the  art  of  communicating 

lo  in  two  widely  different  ways.  He  could  describe  virtues, 
vices,  habits,  whims,  as  well  as  Clarendon.  But  he  could 
do  something  better.  He  could  call  human  beings  into 
existence,  and  make  them  exhibit  themselves.  If  we  wish 
to  find  anything  more  vivid  than  Addison's  best  portraits, 

15  we  must  go  either  to  Shakespeare  or  to  Cervantes. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  Addison's  humor  —  of  his 
sense  of  the  ludicrous,  of  his  power  of  awakening  that 
sense  in  others,  and  of  drawing  mirth  from  incidents  which 
occur  every  day,  and  from  little  peculiarities  of  temper  and 

20  manner,  such  as  may  be  found  in  every  man  ?  We  feel 
the  charm  ;  we  give  ourselves  up  to  it ;  but  we  strive  in 
vain  to  analyze  it. 

Perhaps  the  best  way  of  describing  Addison's  peculiar 
pleasantry  is  to  compare  it  with  the  pleasantry  of  some 

25  other  great  satirists.  The  three  most  eminent  masters  of 
the  art  of  ridicule  during  the  eighteenth  century  were,  we 
conceive,  Addison,  Swift,  and  Voltaire.  Which  of  the 
three  had  the  greatest  power  of  moving  laughter  may  be 
questioned.     But  each  of  them,  within  his  own  domain, 

30  was  supreme. 

Voltaire  is  the  prince  of  buffoons.  His  merriment  is 
without  disguise  or  restraint.  He  gambols  ;  he  grins  ;  he 
shakes  the  sides  ;  he  points  the  finger ;  he  turns  up  the 
nose  ;  he  shoots  out  the  tono^ue.     The  manner  of  Swift 


THE    LIFE    AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         55 

is  the  very  opposite  to  this.  He  moves  laughter,  but 
never  joins  in  it.  He  appears  in  his  works  such  as  he 
appeared  in  society.  All  the  company  are  convulsed  with 
merriment,  while  the  Dean,  the  author  of  all  the  mirth, 
preserves  an  invincible  gravity,  and  even  sourness  of  5 
aspect,  and  gives  utterance  to  the  most  eccentric  and 
ludicrous  fancies,  with  the  air  of  a  man  reading  the  com- 
mination  service. 

The  manner  of  Addison  is  as  remote  from  that  of  Swift 
as  from  that  of  Voltaire.  He  neither  laughs  out  like  the  10 
French  wit,  nor,  like  the  Irish  wit,  throws  a  double  portion 
of  severity  into  his  countenance  while  laughing  inwardly; 
but  preserves  a  look  peculiarly  his  own  —  a  look  of  demure 
serenity,  disturbed  only  by  an  arch  sparkle  of  the  eye,  an 
almost  imperceptible  elevation  of  the  brow,  an  almost  15 
imperceptible  curl  of  the  lip.  His  tone  is  never  that 
either  of  a  Jack  Pudding  or  of  a  cynic.  It  is  that  of  a 
gentleman,  in  whom  the  quickest  sense  of  the  ridiculous 
is  constantly  tempered  by  good  nature  and  good  breeding. 

We  own  that  the  humor  of  Addison  is,  in  our  opinion,  20 
of  a  more  delicious  flavor  than  the  humor  of  either  Swift 
or  Voltaire.     Thus  much,  at  least,  is  certain,  that  both 
Swift  and  Voltaire  have  been  successfully  mimicked,  and 
that  no  man  has  yet  been  able  to  mimic  Addison.     The 
letter  of  the  Abbe  Coyer  to  Pansophe  is  Voltaire  all  over,  25 
and  imposed,  during  a  long  time,  on  the  Academicians  of 
Paris.     There  are  passages  in  Arbuthnot's  satirical  works 
which  we,  at  least,  cannot  distinguish  from  Swift's  best 
writing.     But  of  the  many  eminent  men  who  have  made 
Addison  their  model,  though  several  have  copied  his  mere  30 
diction  with  happy  effect,  none  have  been  able  to  catch 
the  tone  of  his  pleasantry.     In  the  Worlds  in  the  Coiuwis- 
seii?',  in  the  Mirror^  in  the  Lounger^  there  are  numerous 
papers  written   in   obvious  imitation  of  his    Tatlers  and 


56         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

Spectators.  Most  of  these  papers  have  some  merit;  many 
are  very  lively  and  amusing ;  but  there  is  not  a  single  one 
which  could  be  passed  off  as  Addison's  on  a  critic  of  the 
smallest  perspicacity. 
5  But  that  which  chiefly  distinguishes  Addison  from  Swift, 
from  Voltaire,  from  almost  all  the  other  great  masters 
of  ridicule,  is  the  grace,  the  nobleness,  the  moral  purity 
which  we  find  even  in  his  merriment.  Severity,  gradually 
hardening  and  darkening  into  misanthropy,  characterizes 

10  the  works  of  Swift.  The  nature  of  Voltaire  was,  indeed, 
not  inhuman  ;  but  he  venerated  nothing.  Neither  in  the 
masterpieces  of  art  nor  in  the  purest  examples  of  virtue, 
neither  in  the  Great  First  Cause  nor  in  the  awful  enigma 
of  the  grave,  could  he  see  anything  but  subjects  for  drol- 

15  lery.  The  more  solemn  and  august  the  theme,  the  more 
monkey-like  was  his  grimacing  and  chattering.  The 
mirth  of  Swift  is  the  mirth  of  Mephistophiles ;  the  mirth 
of  Voltaire  is  the  mirth  of  Puck.  If,  as  Soame  Jenyns 
oddly  imagined,  a  portion  of  the  happiness  of  seraphim 

20  and  just  men  made  perfect  be  derived  from  an  exquisite 
perception  of  the  ludicrous,  their  mirth  must  surely  be 
none  other  than  the  mirth  of  Addison —  a  mirth  consistent 
with  tender  compassion  for  all  that  is  frail,  and  with  pro- 
found reverence  for  all  that  is  sublime.     Nothing  great, 

25  nothing  amiable,  no  moral  duty,  no  doctrine  of  natural  or 
revealed  religion,  has  ever  been  associated  by  Addison 
with  any  degrading  idea.  His  humanity  is  without  a 
parallel  in  literary  history.  The  highest  proof  of  virtue 
is  to  possess  boundless  power  without  abusing  it.     No 

30  kind  of  power  is  more  formidable  than  the  power  of 
making  men  ridiculous ;  and  that  power  Addison  pos- 
sessed in  boundless  measure.  How  grossly  that  power 
was  abused. by  Swift  and  by  Voltaire  is  well  known.  But 
of  Addison  it  may  be  confidently  affirmed  that  he  has 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         57 

blackened  no  man's  character;  nay,  that  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult, if  not  impossible,  to  find  in  all  the  volumes  which  he 
has  left  us  a  single  taunt  which  can  be  called  ungenerous 
or  unkind.  Yet  he  had  detractors  whose  malignity  might 
have  seemed  to  justify  as  terrible  a  revenge  as  that  which  5 
men  not  superior  to  him  in  genius  wreaked  on  Bettes- 
worth  and  on  Franc  de  Pompignan.  He  was  a  politician ; 
he  was  the  best  writer  of  his  party;  he  lived  in  times  of 
fierce  excitement,  in  times  when  persons  of  high  character 
and  station  stooped  to  scurrility  such  as  is  now  practised  10 
only  by  the  basest  of  mankind.  Yet  no  provocation  and 
no  example  could  induce  him  to  return  railing  for  railing. 
Of  the  service  which  his  essays  rendered  to  morality  it 
is  difficult  to  speak  too  highly.  It  is  true  that,  when  the 
Tatler  appeared,  that  age  of  outrageous  profaneness  and  15 
licentiousness  which  followed  the  Restoration  had  passed 
away.  Jeremy  Collier  had  shamed  the  theaters  into  some- 
thing which,  compared  with  the  excesses  of  Etherege  and 
Wycherley,  might  be  called  decency.  Yet  there  still  lin- 
gered in  the  public  mind  a  pernicious  notion  that  there  20 
was  some  connection  between  genius  and  profligacy, 
between  the  domestic  virtues  and  the  sullen  formality  of 
the  Puritans.  That  error  it  is  the  glory  of  Addison  to 
have  dispelled.  He  taught  the  nation  that  the  faith  and 
the  morality  of  Hale  and  Tillotson  might  be  found  in  25 
company  with  wit  more  sparkling  than  the  wit  of  Con- 
greve,  and  with  humor  richer  than  the  humor  of  Vanbrugh. 
So  effectually,  indeed,  did  he  retort  on  vice  the  mockery 
which  had  recently  been  directed  against  virtue,  that, 
since  his  time,  the  open  violation  of  decency  has  always  30 
been  considered  among  us  as  the  mark  of  a  fool.  And 
this  revolution,  the  greatest  and  most  salutary  ever  effected 
by  any  satirist,  he  accomplished,  be  it  remembered,  with- 
out writing  one  personal  lampoon. 


58  THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

In  the  early  contributions  of  Addison  to  the  Tatler^  his 
peculiar  powers  were  not  fully  exhibited.  Yet  from  the 
first  his  superiority  to  all  his  coadjutors  was  evident. 
Some  of  his  later  I'atlers  are  fully  equal  to  anything  that 
5  he  ever  wrote.  Among  the  portraits,  we  most  admire 
Tom  Folio,  Ned  Softly,  and  the  Political  Upholsterer. 
The  proceedings  of  the  Court  of  Honor,  the  Thermometer 
of  Zeal,  the  story  of  the  Frozen  Words,  the  Memoirs  of 
the  Shilling,  are  excellent  specimens  of  that  ingenious  and 

10  lively  species  of  fiction  in  which  Addison  excelled  all 
men.  There  is  one  still  better  paper  of  the  same  class. 
But  though  that  paper,  a  hundred  and  thirty-three  years 
ago,  was  probably  thought  as  edifying  as  one  of  Smalridge's 
sermons,  we  dare  not  indicate  it  to  the  squeamish  readers 

IS  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

During  the  session  of  Parliament  which  commenced  in 
November,  1709,  and  which  the  impeachment  of  Sach- 
everell  has  made  memorable,  Addison  appears  to  have 
resided  in  London.     The   Tatler  was  now  more  popular 

20  than  any  periodical  paper  had  ever  been ;  and  his  connec- 
tion with  it  was  generally  known.  It  was  not  known, 
however,  that  almost  everything  good  in  the  Tatle?-  was 
his.  The  truth  is,  that  the  fifty  or  sixty  numbers  which 
we  owe  to  him  were  not  merely  the  best,  but  so  decidedly 

25  the  best  that  any  five  of  them  are  more  valuable  than  all 
the  two  hundred  numbers  in  which  he  had  no  share. 

He  required,  at  this  time,  all  the  solace  which  he  could 
derive  from  literary  success.  The  Queen  had  always  dis- 
liked the  Whigs.    She  had  during  some  years  disliked  the 

30  Marlborough  family.  But,  reigning  by  a  disputed  title, 
she  could  not  venture  directly  to  oppose  herself  to  a 
majority  of  both  Houses  of  Parliament ;  and,  engaged  as 
she  was  in  a  war  on  the  event  of  which  her  own  crown 
was  staked,  she  could  not  venture  to  disgrace  a  great  and 


THE    LIFE   AND   IVRITEYGS   OF  ADDISON.         59 

successful  general.  But  at  length,  in  the  year  17 lo,  the 
cause  which  had  restrained  her  from  showing  her  aversion 
to  the  Low  Church  party  ceased  to  operate.  The  trial  of 
Sacheverell  produced  an  outbreak  of  public  feeling  scarcely 
less  violent  than  the  outbreaks  which  we  can  ourselves  5 
remember  in  1820  and  in  1831.  The  country  gentlemen, 
the  country  clergymen,  the  rabble  of  the  towns,  were  all, 
for  once,  on  the  same  side.  It  was  clear  that,  if  a  general 
election  took  place  before  the  excitement  abated,  the 
Tories  would  have  a  majority.  The  services  of  Marl-  10 
borough  had  been  so  splendid  that  they  were  no  longer 
necessary.  The  Queen's  throne  was  secure  from  all  attack 
on  the  part  of  Louis.  Indeed,  it  seemed  much  more 
likely  that  the  English  and  German  armies  would  divide 
the  spoils  of  Versailles  and  Marli  than  that  a  Marshal  of  15 
France  would  bring  back  the  Pretender  to  St.  James's. 
The  Queen,  acting  by  the  advice  of  Harley,  determined 
to  dismiss  her  servants.  In  June  the  change  commenced. 
Sunderland  was  the  first  who  fell.  The  Tories  exulted 
over  his  fall.  The  Whigs  tried,  during  a  few  weeks,  to  20 
persuade  themselves  that  her  Majesty  had  acted  only 
from  personal  dislike  to  the  Secretary,  and  that  she 
meditated  no  further  alteration.  But  early  in  August 
Godolphin  was  surprised  by  a  letter  from  Anne,  which 
directed  him  to  break  his  white  staff.  Even  after  this  25 
event,  the  irresolution  or  dissimulation  of  Harley  kept  up 
the  hopes  of  the  Whigs  during  another  month  ;  and  then 
the  ruin  became  rapid  and  violent.  The  Parliament  was 
dissolved.  The  ministers  were  turned  out.  The  Tories 
were  called  to  office.  The  tide  of  popularity  ran  violently  3° 
in  favor  of  the  High  Church  party.  That  party,  feeble  in 
the  late  House  of  Commons,  was  now  irresistible.  The 
power  which  the  Tories  had  thus  suddenly  acquired  they 
used  with  blind  and  stupid  ferocity.     The  howl  which  the 


60         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

whole  pack  set  up  for  prey  and  for  blood  appalled  even 
him  who  had  roused  and  unchained  them.  When,  at  this 
distance  of  time,  we  calmly  review  the  conduct  of  the 
discarded  ministers,  we  cannot  but  feel  a  movement  of 
5  indignation  at  the  injustice  with  which  they  were  treated. 
No  body  of  men  had  ever  administered  the  government 
with  more  energy,  ability,  and  moderation;  and  their 
success  had  been  proportioned  to  their  wisdom.  They 
had  saved  Holland  and  Germany.     They  had  humbled 

10  France.  They  had,  as  it  seemed,  all  but  torn  Spain  from 
the  House  of  Bourbon.  They  had  made  England  the  first 
power  in  Europe.  At  home  they  had  united  England  and 
Scotland.  They  had  respected  the  rights  of  conscience 
and  the  liberty  of  the  subject.    They  retired,  leaving  their 

15  country  at  the  height  of  prosperity  and  glory.  And  yet 
they  were  pursued  to  their  retreat  by  such  a  roar  of 
obloquy  as  was  never  raised  against  the  government  which 
threw  away  thirteen  colonies,  or  against  the  government 
which  sent  a  gallant  army  to  perish   in   the  ditches  of 

20  Walcheren. 

None  of  the  Whigs  suffered  more  in  the  general  wreck 
than  Addison.  He  had  just  sustained  some  heavy  pecun- 
iary losses,  of  the  nature  of  which  we  are  imperfectly 
informed,    when  his  secretaryship  was  taken  from   him. 

25  He  had  reason  to  believe  that  he  should  also  be  deprived 
of  the  small  Irish  office  which  he  held  by  patent.  He 
had  just  resigned  his  fellowship.  It  seems  probable  that 
he  had  already  ventured  to  raise  his  eyes  to  a  great  lady, 
and  that,  while  his  political  friends  were  in  power,  and 

30  while  his  own  fortunes  were  rising,  he  had  been,  in  the 
phrase  of  the  romances  which  were  then  fashionable,  per- 
mitted to  hope.  But  Mr.  Addison  the  ingenious  writer 
and  Mr.  Addison  the  Chief  Secretary  were,  in  her  lady- 
ship's  opinion,   two   very   different   persons.      All   these 


THE    LIFE    AND   WKrriA'GS   OF  ADDISON.         61 

calamities  united,  however,  could  not  disturb  the  serene 
cheerfulness  of  a  mind  conscious  of  innocence,  and  rich 
in  its  own  wealth.  He  told  his  friends,  with  smiling 
resignation,  that  they  ought  to  admire  his  philosophy; 
that  he  had  lost  at  once  his  fortune,  his  place,  his  fellow-  5 
ship,  and  his  mistress,  that  he  must  think  of  turning  tutor 
again,  and  yet  that  his  spirits  were  as  good  as  ever. 

He  had  one  consolation.  Of  the  unpopularity  which 
his  friends  had  incurred,  he  had  no  share.  Such  was 
the  esteem  with  which  he  was  regarded  that,  while  the  10 
most  violent  measures  were  taken  for  the  purpose  of 
forcing  Tory  members  on  Whig  corporations,  he  was 
returned  to  Parliament  without  even  a  contest.  Swift, 
who  was  now  in  London,  and  who  had  already  deter- 
mined on  quitting  the  Whigs,  wrote  to  Stella  in  these  15 
remarkable  words  :  "  The  Tories  carry  it  among  the  new 
members  six  to  one.  Mr.  Addison's  election  has  passed 
easy  and  undisputed ;  and  1  believe  if  he  had  a  mind  to 
be  king,  he  would  hardly  be  refused." 

The  good  will  with  which  the  Tories  regarded  Addison  20 
is  the  more  honorable  to  him  because  it  had  not  been 
purchased  by  any  concession  on  his  part.     During  the 
general  election  he  published  a  political  journal,  entitled 
the  Whig  Examiner.     Of  that  journal  it  may  be  sufficient 
to  say  that  Johnson,  in  spite  of  his  strong  political  preju-  25 
dices,   pronounced   it   to  be   superior   in  wit   to    any  of 
Swift's  writings  on  the  other  side.     When  it  ceased  to 
appear,  Swift,  in  a  letter  to  Stella,  expressed  his  exulta- 
tion at  the  death  of  so  formidable  an  antagonist.     "  He 
might  well  rejoice,"  says  Johnson,  "  at  the  death  of  that  3° 
which  he  could  not  have   killed."     ^'  On  no   occasion," 
he  adds,  "  was  the  genius  of   Addison  more  vigorously 
exerted,  and  on  none  did  the  superiority  of  his  powers 
more  evidently  appear." 


62  THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

The  only  use  which  Addison  appears  to  have  made  of 
the  favor  with  which  he  was  regarded  by  the  Tories  was 
to  save  some  of  his  friends  from  the  general  ruin  of  the 
Whig  party.  He  felt  himself  to  be  in  a  situation  which 
5  made  it  his  duty  to  take  a  decided  part  in  politics.  But 
the  case  of  Steele  and  of  Ambrose  Philips  was  different. 
For  Philips,  Addison  even  condescended  to  solicit;  with 
what  success  we  have  not  ascertained.  Steele  held  two 
places.     He  was  Gazetteer,  and  he  was  also  a  Commis- 

lo  sioner  of  Stamps.  The  Gazette  was  taken  from  him. 
But  he  was  suffered  to  retain  his  place  in  the  Stamp 
Ofhce,  on  an  implied  understanding  that  he  should  not  be 
active  against  the  new  government;  and  he  was,  during 
more  than  two  years,  induced  by  Addison  to  observe  this 

15  armistice  with  tolerable  fidelity. 

Isaac  Bickerstaff  accordingly  became  silent  upon  poli- 
tics, and  the  article  of  news,  which  had  once  formed  about 
one-third  of  his  paper,  altogether  disappeared.  The 
Tatler  had  completely  changed    its   character.      It   was 

20  now  nothing  but  a  series  of  essays  on  books,  morals,  and 
manners.  Steele  therefore  resolved  to  bring  it  to  a  close, 
and  to  commence  a  new  work  on  an  improved  plan.  It 
was  announced  that  this  new  work  would  be  published 
daily.     The  undertaking  was  generally  regarded  as  bold, 

25  or  rather  rash  ;  but  the  event  amply  justified  the  confi- 
dence with  which  Steele  relied  on  the  fertility  of  Addi- 
son's genius.  On  the  2d  of  January,  17 11,  appeared 
the  last  Taller.  At  the  beginning  of  March  following 
appeared  the  first  of  an  incomparable  series  of  papers, 

30  containing  observations  on  life  and  literature  by  an 
imaginary  spectator. 

The  Spectator  himself  was  conceived  and  drawn  by 
Addison  ;  and  it  is  not  easy  to  doubt  that  the  portrait 
was   meant   to  be    in   some  features  a  likeness  of   the 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         63 

painter.  The  Spectator  is  a  gentleman  who,  after  pass- 
ing a  studious  youth  at  the  university,  has  traveled  on 
classic  ground,  and  has  bestowed  much  attention  on  curi- 
ous points  of  antiquity.  He  has,  on  his  return,  fixed 
his  residence  in  London,  and  has  observed  all  the  forms  5 
of  life  which  are  to  be  found  in  that  great  city ;  has  daily 
listened  to  the  wits  of  Will's,  has  smoked  with  the 
philosophers  of  the  Grecian,  and  has  mingled  with  the 
parsons  at  Child's,  and  with  the  politicians  at  the  St. 
James's.  In  the  morning,  he  often  listens  to  the  hum  10 
of  the  Exchange;  in  the  evening,  his  face  is  constantly 
to  be  seen  in  the  pit  of  Drury  Lane  Theater.  But  an  in- 
surmountable bashfulness  prevents  him  from  opening  his 
mouth  except  in  a  small  circle  of  intimate  friends. 

These  friends  were  first  sketched  by  Steele.  Four  of  15 
the  club,  the  templar,  the  clergyman,  the  soldier,  and 
the  merchant,  w^ere  uninteresting  figures,  fit  only  for  a 
background.  But  the  other  two,  an  old  country  baronet 
and  an  old  town  rake,  though  not  delineated  with  a  very 
delicate  pencil,  had  some  good  strokes.  Addison  took  20 
the  rude  outlines  into  his  own  hands,  retouched  them, 
colored  them,  and  is  in  truth  the  creator  of  the  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley  and  the  Will  Honeycomb  with  whom  we  are 
all  familiar. 

The  plan  of  the  Spectator  must  be  allowed  to  be  both  25 
original  and  eminently  happy.  Every  valuable  essay  in 
the  series  may  be  read  with  pleasure  separately  ;  yet  the 
five  or  six  hundred  essays  form  a  whole,  and  a  whole 
which  has  the  interest  of  a  novel.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered, too,  that  at  that  time  no  novel,  giving  a  lively  and  3° 
powerful  picture  of  the  common  life  and  manners  of  Eng- 
land, had  appeared.  Richardson  was  working  as  a  com- 
positor. Fielding  was  robbing  birds'  nests.  Smollett 
was  not  yet  born.     The  narrative,  therefore,  which  con- 


64         THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON 

nects  together  the  Spectator's  essays  gave  to  our  ances- 
tors their  first  taste  of  an  exquisite  and  untried  pleasure. 
That  narrative  was,  indeed,  constructed  with  no  art  or 
labor.     The  events  were  such  events  as  occur  every  day. 

5  Sir  Roger  comes  up  to  town  to  see  Eugenio,  as  the 
worthy  baronet  always  calls  Prince  Eugene,  goes  with 
the  Spectator  on  the  water  to  Spring  Gardens,  walks 
among  the  tombs  in  the  Abbey,  and  is  frightened  by  the 
Mohawks,  but  conquers  his  apprehension  so  far  as  to  go 

10  to  the  theater  when  the  '  Distressed  Mother  '  is  acted. 
The  Spectator  pays  a  visit  in  the  summer  to  Coverley 
Hall,  is  charmed  with  the  old  house,  the  old  butler,  and 
the  old  chaplain,  eats  a  jack  caught  by  Will  Wimble, 
rides  to  the  assizes,  and  hears  a  point  of  law  discussed 

15  by  Tom  Touchy.  At  last  a  letter  from  the  honest  butler 
brings  to  the  club  the  news  that  Sir  Roger  is  dead. 
Will  Honeycomb  marries  and  reforms  at  sixty.  The 
club  breaks  up,  and  the  Spectator  resigns  his  functions. 
Such  events  can  hardly  be  said  to  form  a  plot ;  yet  they 

20  are  related  with  such  truth,  such  grace,  such  wit,  such 
humor,  such  pathos,  such  knowledge  of  the  human  heart, 
such  knowledge  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  that  they  charm 
us  on  the  hundredth  perusal.  We  have  not  the  least 
doubt  that  if  Addison  had  written  a  novel  on  an  exten- 

25  sive  plan,  it  would  have  been  superior  to  any  that  we 
possess.  As  it  is,  he  is  entitled  to  be  considered  not 
only  as  the  greatest  of  the  English  essayists,  but  as  the 
forerunner  of  the  great  English  novelists. 

We    say  this   of   Addison   alone ;  for  Addison  is  the 

30  Spectator.  About  three-sevenths  of  the  work  are  his ; 
and  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  his  worst  essay  is 
as  good  as  the  best  essay  of  any  of  his  coadjutors.  His 
best  essays  approach  near  to  absolute  perfection  ;  nor  is 
their  excellence  more  wonderful  than  their  variety.     His 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.        65 

invention  never  seems  to  flag ;  nor  is  he  ever  under  the 
necessity  of  repeating  himself,  or  of  wearing  out  a  sub- 
ject. There  are  no  dregs  in  his  wine.  He  regales  us 
after  the  fashion  of  that  prodigal  nabob  who  held  that 
there  was  only  one  good  glass  in  a  bottle.  As  soon  as  5 
we  have  tasted  the  first  sparkling  foam  of  a  jest,  it  is 
withdrawn,  and  a  fresh  draught  of  nectar  is  at  our  lips. 
On  the  Monday,  we  have  an  allegory  as  lively  and  ingen- 
ious as  Lucian's  'Auction  of  Lives' ;  on  the  Tuesday,  an 
Eastern  apologue  as  richly  colored  as  the  tales  of  Sche-  ro 
herezade  ;  on  the  Wednesday,  a  character  described  with 
the  skill  of  La  Bruyere  ;  on  the  Thursday,  a  scene  from 
common  life,  equal  to  the  best  chapters  in  the  '  Vicar  of 
Wakefield';  on  the  Friday,  some  sly  Horatian  pleasantry 
on  fashionable  follies, — on  hoops,  patches,  or  puppet-  15 
shows ;  and  on  the  Saturday,  a  religious  meditation, 
which  will  bear  a  comparison  with  the  finest  passages  in 
Massillon. 

It  is  dangerous  to  select  where  there  is  so  much  that 
deserves  the  highest  praise.  We  will  venture,  however,  20 
to  say  that  any  person  who  wishes  to  form  a  just  notion 
of  the  extent  and  variety  of  Addison's  powers  will  do 
well  to  read  at  one  sitting  the  following  papers  :  the  two 
Visits  to  the  Abbey,  the  Visit  to  the  Exchange,  the 
Journal  of  the  Retired  Citizen,  the  Vision  of  Mirza,  the  -5 
Transmigrations  of  Pug  the  Monkey,  and  the  Death  of 
Sir  Roger  de  Coverley. 

The  least  valuable  of  Addison's  contributions  to  the 
Spectator  are,  in  the  judgment  of  our  age,  his  critical 
papers.  Yet  his  critical  papers  are  always  luminous,  3° 
and  often  ingenious.  The  very  worst  of  them  must  be 
regarded  as  creditable  to  him,  when  the  character  of  the 
school  in  which  he  had  been  trained  is  fairly  considered. 
The  best  of  them  were  much  too  good  for  his  readers. 


66          THE    LIFE    AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

In  truth,  he  was  not  so  far  behind  our  generation  as  he 
was  before  his  own.  No  essays  in  the  Spectator  were 
more  censured  and  derided  than  those  in  which  he  raised 
his  voice  against  the  contempt  with  which  our  fine  old 
5  ballads  were  regarded,  and  showed  the  scoffers  that  the 
same  gold  which,  burnished  and  polished,  gives  luster  to 
the  ^neid  and  the  Odes  of  Horace,  is  mingled  with  the 
rude  dross  of  '  Chevy  Chase.' 

It    is   not   strange   that   the  success    of    the    Spectator 

10  should  have  been  such  as  no  similar  work  has  ever 
obtained.  The  number  of  copies  daily  distributed  was 
at  first  three  thousand.  It  subsequently  increased,  and 
had  risen  to  near  four  thousand  when  the  stamp  tax  was 
imposed.     That  tax  was  fatal  to   a  crowd  of  journals. 

15  The  Spectator.,  however,  stood  its  ground,  doubled  its 
price,  and,  though  its  circulation  fell  off,  still  yielded  a 
large  revenue  both  to  the  State  and  to  the  authors.  For 
particular  papers  the  demand  was  immense;  of  some,  it 
is  said,  twenty  thousand  copies  were  required.     But  this 

20  was  not  all.  To  have  the  Spectator  served  up  every 
morning  with  the  bohea  and  rolls  was  a  luxury  for  the 
few.  The  majority  were  content  to  wait  till  essays 
enough  had  appeared  to  form  a  volume.  Ten  thousand 
copies  of  each  volume  were  immediately  taken  off,  and 

25  new  editions  were  called  for.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  the  population  of  England  was  then  hardly  a  third 
of  what  it  now  is.  The  number  of  Englishmen  who  were 
in  the  habit  of  reading  was  probably  not  a  sixth  of 
what  it  now  is.     A  shopkeeper  or  a  farmer  who  found 

30  any  pleasure  in  literature  was  a  rarity.  Nay,  there  was 
doubtless  more  than  one  knight  of  the  shire  whose  coun- 
try seat  did  not  contain  ten  books,  receipt  books  and 
books  on  farriery  included.  In  these  circumstances  the 
sale  of  the  Spectator  must  be  considered  as  indicating  a 


THE    LIFE    AND   WRITINGS    OF  ADDISON.         67 

popularity  quite  as  great  as  that  of  the  most  successful 
works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  Mr.  Dickens  in  our  own 
time. 

At  the  close  of  1 7 1 2   the  Spectator  ceased  to  appear. 
It  was  probably  felt  that  the  short-faced  gentleman  and    5 
his  club  had  been  long  enough  before  the  town ;  and  that 
it  was  time  to  withdraw  them,  and  to  replace  them  by  a 
new  set  of  characters.     In  a  few  weeks  the  first  number 
of  the  Guardian  was  published.     But  the  Guardian  was 
unfortunate  both  in  its  birth  and  in  its  death.     It  began  10 
in  dullness,  and  disappeared  in  a  tempest  of  faction.     The 
original  plan  was  bad.     Addison  contributed  nothing  till 
sixty-six  numbers  had  appeared ;  and  it  was  then  impos- 
sible to  make  the  Guardiaji  what  the  Spectator  had  been. 
Nestor  Ironside  and  the   Miss   Lizards  were  people   to  15 
whom  even  he  could  impart  no  interest.     He  could  only 
furnish  some    excellent   little  essays,   both    serious    and 
comic  ;  and  this  he  did. 

Why   Addison  gave   no    assistance    to    the    Guardian 
during  the  first  two  months  of  its  existence,  is  a  ques-  20 
tion  which  has  puzzled  the  editors  and  biographers,  but 
which  seems  to  us  to  admit  of  a  very  easy  solution.     He 
was  then  engaged  in  bringing  his  '  Cato '  on  the  stage. 

The  first  four  acts  of  this  drama  had  been  lying  in  his 
desk  since  his  return  from  Italy.  His  modest  and  sensi-  25 
tive  nature  shrank  from  the  risk  of  a  public  and  shame- 
ful failure ;  and  though  all  who  saw  the  manuscript  were 
loud  in  praise,  some  thought  it  possible  that  an  audience 
might  become  impatient  even  of  very  good  rhetoric,  and 
advised  Addison  to  print  the  play  without  hazarding  a  30 
representation.  At  length,  after  many  fits  of  apprehen- 
sion, the  poet  yielded  to  the  urgency  of  his  political 
friends,  who  hoped  that  the  public  would  discover  some 
analogy  between  the  followers  of  Caesar  and  the  Tories, 


68  THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS    OF  ADDISON. 

between  Sempronius  and  the  apostate  Whigs,  between 
Cato,  struggling  to  the  last  for  the  liberties  of  Rome,  and 
the  band  of  patriots  who  still  stood  firm  round  Halifax 
and  Wharton. 
5  Addison  gave  the  play  to  the  managers  of  Drury  Lane 
Theater,  without  stipulating  for  any  advantage  to  himself. 
They  therefore  thought  themselves  bound  to  spare  no 
cost  in  scenery  and  dresses.  The  decorations,  it  is  true, 
would  not  have  pleased  the  skillful  eye  of  Mr.  Macready. 

lo  Juba's  waistcoat  blazed  with  gold  lace;  Marcia's  hoop 
was  worthy  of  a  duchess  on  the  birthday;  and  Cato  wore 
a  wig  worth  fifty  guineas.  The  prologue  was  written  by 
Pope,  and  is  undoubtedly  a  dignified  and  spirited  compo- 
sition.    The  part  of  the  hero  was  excellently  played  by 

15  Booth.  Steele  undertook  to  pack  a  house.  The  boxes 
were  in  a  blaze  with  the  stars  of  the  Peers  in  Opposition. 
The  pit  was  crowded  with  attentive  and  friendly  listeners 
from  the  Inns  of  Court  and  the  literary  coffee-houses. 
Sir  Gilbert  Heathcote,  Governor  of  the  Bank  of  England, 

20  was  at  the  head  of  a  powerful  body  of  auxiliaries  from 
the  City,  warm  men  and  true  Whigs,  but  better  known  at 
Jonathan's  and  Garraway's  than  in  the  haunts  of  wits 
and  critics. 

These  precautions  were  quite  superfluous.     The  Tories, 

25  as  a  body,  regarded  Addison  with  no  unkind  feelings. 
Nor  was  it  for  their  interest,  professing,  as  they  did,  pro- 
found reverence  for  law  and  prescription,  and  abhorrence 
both  of  popular  insurrections  and  of  standing  armies,  to 
appropriate  to  themselves  reflections  thrown  on  the  great 

30  military  chief  and  demagogue  who,  with  the  support  of 
the  legions  and  of  the  common  people,  subverted  all  the 
ancient  institutions  of  his  country.  Accordingly,  every 
shout  that  was  raised  by  the  members  of  the  Kit-Cat 
was  echoed  by  the  High  Churchmen  of  the  October ;  and 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.        69 

the  curtain  at  length  fell  amidst  thunders  of  unanimous 
applause. 

The  delight  and  admiration  of  the  town  were  described 
by  the  Giiardia?i  in  terms  which  we  might  attribute  to 
partiality,  were  it  not  that  the  Examiner^  the  organ  of  the  5 
ministry,  held  similar  language.  The  Tories,  indeed, 
found  much  to  sneer  at  in  the  conduct  of  their  opponents. 
Steele  had  on  this,  as  on  other  occasions,  shown  more 
zeal  than  taste  or  judgment.  The  honest  citizens  who 
marched  under  the  orders  of  Sir  Gibby,  as  he  was  face-  10 
tiously  called,  probably  knew  better  when  to  buy  and 
when  to  sell  stock  than  when  to  clap  and  when  to  hiss  at 
a  play,  and  incurred  some  ridicule  by  making  the  hypo- 
critical Sempronius  their  favorite,  and  by  giving  to  his 
insincere  rants  louder  plaudits  than  they  bestowed  on  15 
the  temperate  eloquence  of  Cato.  Wharton,  too,  who  had 
the  incredible  effrontery  to  applaud  the  lines  about  flying 
from  prosperous  vice  and  from  the  power  of  impious  men 
to  a  private  station,  did  not  escape  the  sarcasms  of  those 
who  justly  thought  that  he  could  fly  from  nothing  more  20 
vicious  or  impious  than  himself.  The  epilogue,  which 
was  written  by  Garth,  a  zealous  Whig,  was  severely  and 
not  unreasonably  censured  as  ignoble  and  out  of  place. 
But  Addison  was  described,  even  by  the  bitterest  Tory 
writers,  as  a  gentleman  of  wit  and  virtue,  in  whose  25 
friendship  many  persons  of  both  parties  were  happy,  and 
whose  name  ought  not  to  be  mixed  up  with  factious 
squabbles. 

Of  the  jests  by  which  the  triumph  of  the  Whig  party 
was  disturbed,  the  most  severe  and  happy  was  Boling-  30 
broke's.  Between  two  acts  he  sent  for  Booth  to  his  box, 
and  presented  him,  before  the  whole  theater,  with  a  purse 
of  flfty  guineas  for  defending  the  cause  of  liberty  so  well 
against  a  perpetual   Dictator.     This  was  a  pungent  allu- 


70         THE    LIFE   AND   IVRITIXGS   OF  ADDISON. 

sion  to  the  attempt  which  Marlborough  had  made,  not 
long  before  his  fall,  to  obtain  a  patent  creating  him 
Captain-General  for  life. 

It  was  April ;  and  in  April  a  hundred  and  thirty  years 
5  ago  the  London  season  was  thought  to  be  far  advanced. 
During  a  whole  month,  however,  '  Cato '  was  performed 
to  overflowing  houses,  and  brought  into  the  treasury  of 
the  theater  twice  the  gains  of  an  ordinary  spring.  In  the 
summer  the  Drury  Lane  Company  went  down  to  act  at 

10  Oxford,  and  there,  before  an  audience  which  retained 
an  affectionate  remembrance  of  Addison's  accomplish- 
ments and  virtues,  his  tragedy  was  acted  during  several 
days.  The  gownsmen  began  to  besiege  the  theater  in 
the  forenoon,  and  by  one  in  the  afternoon  all  the  seats 

15  were  filled. 

About  the  merits  of  the  piece  which  had  so  extraordi- 
nary an  effect,  the  public,  we  suppose,  has  made  up  its 
mind.  To  compare  it  with  the  masterpieces  of  the  Attic 
stage,  with  the  great  English  dramas  of  the  time  of  Eliza- 

20  beth,  or  even  with  the  productions  of  Schiller's  manhood, 
would  be  absurd  indeed.  Yet  it  contains  excellent  dia- 
logue and  declamation,  and,  among  plays  fashioned  on 
the  French  model,  must  be  allowed  to  rank  high  ;  not 
indeed  with  '  Athalie  '  or  '  Saul ' ;  but,  we  think,  not  below 

25  '  Cinna,'  and  certainly  above  any  other  English  tragedy 
of  the  same  school ;  above  many  of  the  plays  of  Corneille  ; 
above  many  of  the  plays  of  Voltaire  and  Alfieri ;  and 
above  some  plays  of  Racine.  Be  this  as  it  may,  we  have 
little  doubt  that  '  Cato  '  did  as  much  as  the  Tatlers,  Spcc- 

30  tutors,  and  Freeholders  united,  to  raise  Addison's  fame 
among  his  contemporaries. 

The  modesty  and  good  nature  of  the  successful  dram- 
atist had  tamed  even  the  malignity  of  faction.  But 
literary   envy,   it  should  seem,    is  a  fiercer  passion  than 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON         71 

party  spirit.     It  was  by  a  zealous  Whig  that  the  fiercest '' 
attack  on  the   Whig  tragedy  was    made.      John  Dennis 
published  '  Remarks  on  Cato,'  which  were  written  with 
some  acuteness  and  with  much  coarseness  and  asperity. 
Addison  neither   defended    himself    nor   retaliated.     On    5 
many  points  he  had  an  excellent  defense,  and  nothing 
would  have  been  easier  than  to  retaliate ;  for  Dennis  had 
written  bad  odes,  bad  tragedies,  bad  comedies  ;  he  had, 
moreover,  a  larger  share  than  most  men  of  those  infirmi- 
ties and  eccentricities  which  excite  laughter;   and  Addi-  10 
son's  power  of  turning  either  an  absurd  book  or  an  absurd 
man    into    ridicule    was    unrivaled.      Addison,    however, 
serenely  conscious  of  his  superiority,  looked  with  pity  on 
his  assailant,  whose  temper,  naturally  irritable  and  gloomy, 
had  been  soured  by  want,  by  controversy,  and  by  literary  15 
failures. 

But  among  the  young  candidates  for  Addison's  favor 
there  was  one  distinguished  by  talents  from  the  rest,  and 
distinguished,  we  fear,  not  less  by  malignity  and  insin- 
cerity. Pope  was  only  twenty-five.  But  his  powers  had  20 
expanded  to  their  full  maturity ;  and  his  best  poem,  the 
*  Rape  of  the  Lock,'  had  recently  been  published.  Of 
his  genius  Addison  had  always  expressed  high  admira- 
tion. But  Addison  had  early  discerned,  what  might, 
indeed,  have  been  discerned  by  an  eye  less  penetrating  25 
than  his,  that  the  diminutive,  crooked,  sickly  boy  was 
eager  to  revenge  himself  on  society  for  the  unkindness 
of  nature.  In  the  Spectato?-  the  '  Essay  on  Criticism  ' 
had  been  praised  with  cordial  warmth  ;  but  a  gentle  hint 
had  been  added  that  the  writer  of  so  excellent  a  poem  3° 
would  have  done  well  to  avoid  ill-natured  personalities. 
Pope,  though  evidently  more  galled  by  the  censure  than 
gratified  by  the  praise,  returned  thanks  for  the  admonition, 
and  promised  to  profit  by  it.     The  two  writers  continued 


72  THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

to  exchange  civilities,  counsel,  and  small  good  offices. 
Addison  publicly  extolled  Pope's  miscellaneous  pieces, 
and  Pope  furnished  Addison  with  a  prologue.  This  did 
not  last  long.  Pope  hated  Dennis,  whom  he  had  injured 
5  without  provocation.  The  appearance  of  the  '  Remarks 
on  Cato  '  gave  the  irritable  poet  an  opportunity  of  vent- 
ing his  malice  under  the  show  of  friendship ;  and  such  an 
opportunity  could  not  but  be  welcome  to  a  nature  which 
was  implacable  in  enmity,  and  which  always  preferred  the 

lo  tortuous  to  the  straight  path.  He  published,  accordingly, 
the  '  Narrative  of  the  P^enzy  of  John  Dennis.'  But  Pope 
had  mistaken  his  powers.  He  was  a  great  master  of 
invective  and  sarcasm  ;  he  could  dissect  a  character  in 
terse  and  sonorous  couplets,  brilliant  with,  antithesis;  but 

15  of  dramatic  talent  he  was  altogether  destitute.  If  he  had 
written  a  lampoon  on  Dennis,  such  as  that  on  Atticus  or 
that  on  Sporus,  the  old  grumbler  would  have  been  crushed. 
But  Pope  writing  dialogue  resembled  —  to  borrow  Horace's 
imagery  and  his  own  —  a  wolf  which,  instead  of  biting, 

20  should  take  to  kicking,  or  a  monkey  which  should  try  to 
sting.  The  Narrative  is  utterly  contemptible.  Of  argu- 
ment there  is  not  even  the  show ;  and  the  jests  are  such 
as,  if  they  were  introduced  into  a  farce,  would  call  forth 
the  hisses  of  the  shilling  gallery.    Dennis  raves  about  the 

25  drama,  and  the  nurse  thinks  that  he  is  calling  for  a  dram. 
"  There  is,"  he  cries,  "  no  peripetia  in  the  tragedy,  no 
change  of  fortune,  no  change  at  all."  —  "  Pray,  good  sir, 
be  not  angry,"  says  the  old  woman  ;  "  I  '11  fetch  change." 
This  is  not  exactly  the  pleasantry  of  Addison. 

30  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Addison  saw  through  this 
officious  zeal,  and  felt  himself  deeply  aggrieved  by  it. 
So  foolish  and  spiteful  a  pamphlet  could  do  him  no  good, 
and,  if  he  were  thought  to  have  any  hand  in  it,  must  do 
him  harm.     Gifted  with  incomparable  powers  of  ridicule, 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         73 

he  had  never,  even  in  self-defense,  used  those  powers 
inhumanly  or  uncourteously;  and  he  was  not  disposed  to 
let  others  make  his  fame  and  his  interests  a  pretext  under 
which  they  might  commit  outrages  from  which  he  had 
himself  constantly  abstained.  He  accordingly  declared  5 
that  he  had  no  concern  in  the  Narrative,  that  he  disap- 
proved of  it,  and  that  if  he  answered  the  Remarks,  he 
would  answer  them  like  a  gentleman  ;  and  he  took  care 
to  communicate  this  to  Dennis.  Pope  was  bitterly  mor- 
tified; and  to  this  transaction  we  are  inclined  to  ascribe  10 
the  hatred  with  which  he  ever  after  regarded  Addison. 

In  September,  17 13,  the  Guardian  ceased  to  appear. 
Steele  had  gone  mad  about  politics.  A  general  election 
had  just  taken  place ;  he  had  been  chosen  member  for 
Stockbridge,  and  he  fully  expected  to  play  a  first  part  in  15 
Parliament.  The  immense  success  of  the  Tatlet-  and 
Spectator  had  turned  his  head.  He  had  been  the  editor 
of  both  those  papers,  and  was  not  aware  how  entirely 
they  owed  their  influence  and  popularity  to  the  genius  of 
his  friend.  His  spirits,  always  violent,  were  now  excited  20 
by  vanity,  ambition,  and  faction  to  such  a  pitch  that  he 
every  day  committed  some  offense  against  good  sense 
and  good  taste.  All  the  discreet  and  moderate  members 
of  his  own  party  regretted  and  condemned  his  folly.  "  I 
am  in  a  thousand  troubles,"  Addison  wrote,  "  about  poor  25 
Dick,  and  wish  that  his  zeal  for  the  public  may  not  be 
ruinous  to  himself.  But  he  has  s^nt  me  word  that  he  is 
determined  to  go  on,  and  that  any  advice  I  may  give  him 
in  this  particular  will  have  no  weight  with  him." 

Steele  set  up  a  political  paper  called  the  EnglisJiman,  30 
which,    as   it  was  not   supported    by  contributions  from 
Addison,  completely  failed.     By  this  work,  by  some  other 
writings  of  the  same  kind,  and  by  the  airs  which  he  gave 
himself  at  the  first  meetins:  of  the  new   Parliament,   he 


74          THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

made  the  Tories  so  angry  that  they  determined  to  expel 
him.  The  Whigs  stood  by  him  gallantly,  but  were  unable 
to  save  him.  The  vote  of  expulsion  was  regarded  by  all 
dispassionate  men  as  a  tyrannical  exercise  of  the  power  of 
5  the  majority.  But  Steele's  violence  and  folly,  though  they 
by  no  means  justified  the  steps  which  his  enemies  took,  had 
completely  disgusted  his  friends ;  nor  did  he  ever  regain 
the  place  which  he  had  held  in  the  public  estimation. 
Addison  about  this  time  conceived  the  design  of  add- 

lo  ing  an  eighth  volume  to  the  Spectator.  In  June,  17 14, 
the  first  number  of  the  new  series  appeared,  and  during 
about  six  months  three  papers  were  published  weekly. 
Nothing  can  be  more  striking  than  the  contrast  between 
the  English7na7i  and  the  eighth  volume  of  the  Spectator^  — 

15  between  Steele  without  Addison  and  Addison  without 
Steele.  The  Englishman  is  forgotten ;  the  eighth  volume 
of  the  Spectator  contains  perhaps  the  finest  essays,  both 
serious  and  playful,  in  the  English  language. 

Before  this  volume  was  completed,  the  death  of  Anne 

20  produced  an  entire  change  in  the  administration  of  pub- 
lic affairs.  The  blow  fell  suddenly.  It  found  the  Tory 
party  distracted  by  internal  feuds,  and  unprepared  for 
any  great  efifort.  Harley  had  just  been  disgraced. 
Bolingbroke,  it  was  supposed,  would  be  the  chief  minis- 

25  ter.  But  the  Queen  was  on  her  deathbed  before  the 
white  staff  had  been  given,  and  her  last  public  act  was 
to  deliver  it  with  a  feeble  hand  to  the  Duke  of  Shrews- 
bury. The  emergency  produced  a  coalition  between  all 
sections  of  public  men  who  were  attached  to  the  Protes- 

30  tant  succession.  George  the  First  was  proclaimed  with- 
out opposition.  A  council,  in  which  the  leading  Whigs 
had  seats,  took  the  direction  of  affairs  till  the  new  King 
should  arrive.  The  first  act  of  the  Lords  Justices  was  to 
appoint  Addison  their  Secretary. 


THE    LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         75 

There  is  an  idle  tradition  that  he  was  directed  to  pre- 
pare a  letter  to  the  King,  that  he  could  not  satisfy  him- 
self as  to  the  style  of  this  composition,  and  that  the 
Lords  Justices  called  in  a  clerk,  who  at  once  did  what 
was  wanted.  It  is  not  strange  that  a  story  so  flattering  5 
to  mediocrity  should  be  popular  ;  and  we  are  sorry  to 
deprive  dunces  of  their  consolation.  But  the  truth  must 
be  told.  It  was  well  observed  by  Sir  James  Mackintosh, 
whose  knowledge  of  these  times  was  unequaled,  that 
Addison  never,  in  any  official  document,  affected  wit  or  10 
eloquence,  and  that  his  despatches  are,  without  excep- 
tion, remarkable  for  unpretending  simplicity.  Everybody 
who  knows  with  what  ease  Addison's  finest  essays  were 
produced  must  be  convinced  that,  if  well-turned  phrases 
had  been  wanted,  he  would  have  had  no  difficulty  in  find-  15 
ing  them.  We  are,  however,  inclined  to  believe  that  the 
story  is  not  absolutely  without  a  foundation.  It  may  well 
be  that  Addison  did  not  know,  till  he  had  consulted  expe- 
rienced clerks  who  remembered  the  times  when  William 
the  Third  was  absent  on  the  Continent,  in  what  form  a  20 
letter  from  the  Council  of  Regency  to  the  King  ought  to 
be  drawn.  We  think  it  very  likely  that  the  ablest  states- 
men of  our  time  —  Lord  John  Russell,  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
Lord  Palmerston,  for  example  —  would,  in  similar  circum- 
stances, be  found  quite  as  ignorant.  Every  office  has  25 
some  little  mysteries  which  the  dullest  man  may  learn 
with  a  little  attention,  and  which  the  greatest  man  cannot 
possibly  know  by  intuition.  One  paper  must  be  signed 
by  the  chief  of  the  department ;  another  by  his  deputy  : 
to  a  third  the  royal  sign-manual  is  necessary.  One  com-  30 
munication  is  to  be  registered,  and  another  is  not.  One 
sentence  must  be  in  black  ink,  and  another  in  red  ink. 
If  the  ablest  Secretary  for  Ireland  were  moved  to  the 
India  Board,  if  the  ablest  President  of  the   India  Board 


76          THE    LIFE    AND   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

were  moved  to  the  War  Office,  he  would  require  instruc- 
tion on  points  like  these  ;  and  we  do  not  doubt  that  Addi- 
son required  such  instruction  when  he  became,  for  the 
first  time.  Secretary  to  the  Lords  Justices. 
5  George  the  First  took  possession  of  his  kingdom  with- 
out opposition.  A  new  ministry  was  formed,  and  a  new 
Parliament  favorable  to  the  Whigs  chosen.  Sunderland 
was  appointed  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland  ;  and  Addison 
again  went  to  Dublin  as  Chief  Secretary. 

lo  At  Dublin  Swift  resided ;  and  there  was  much  specula- 
tion about  the  way  in  which  the  Dean  and  the  Secretary 
would  behave  towards  each  other.  The  relations  which 
existed  between  these  remarkable  men  form  an  interest- 
ing and  pleasing  portion  of  literary  history.     They  had 

1 5  early  attached  themselves  to  the  same  political  party  and 
to  the  same  patrons.  While  Anne's  Whig  ministry  was 
in  power,  the  visits  of  Swift  to  London  and  the  official 
residence  of  Addison  in  Ireland  had  given  them  opportu- 
nities of  knowing  each  other.    They  were  the  two  shrewd- 

20  est  observers  of  their  age.  But  their  observations  on 
each  other  had  led  them  to  favorable  conclusions.  Swift 
did  full  justice  to  the  rare  powers  of  conversation  which 
were  latent  under  the  bashful  deportment  of  Addison. 
Addison,  on  the  other  hand,  discerned  much  good  nature 

25  under  the  severe  look  and  manner  of  Swift;  and,  indeed, 
the  Swift  of  1708  and  the  Swift  of  1738  were  two  very 
different  men. 

But  the  paths  of  the  two  friends  diverged  widely.    The 
Whig  statesmen  loaded  Addison  with  solid  benefits.    They 

30  praised  Swift,  asked  him  to  dinner,  and  did  nothing  more 
for  him.  His  profession  laid  them  under  a  difficulty.  In 
the  State  they  could  not  promote  him  ;  and  they  had 
reason  to  fear  that,  by  bestowing  preferment  in  the  Church 
on  the  author  of  the   'Tale  of  a  Tub,'  they  might  give 


THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         77 

scandal  to  the  public,  which  had  no  high  opinion  of  their 
orthodoxy.  He  did  not  make  fair  allowance  for  the  diffi- 
culties which  prevented  Halifax  and  Somers  from  serving 
him,  thought  himself  an  ill-used  man,  sacrificed  honor 
and  consistency  to  revenge,  joined  the  Tories,  and  became  5 
their  most  formidable  champion.  He  soon  found,  how- 
ever, that  his  old  friends  were  less  to  blame  than  he  had 
supposed.  The  dislike  with  which  the  Queen  and  the 
heads  of  the  Church  regarded  him  was  insurmountable  ; 
and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  he  obtained  an  10 
ecclesiastical  dignity  of  no  great  value,  on  condition  of 
fixing  his  residence  in  a  country  which  he  detested. 

Difference  of  political  opinion  had  produced,  not  in- 
deed a  quarrel,  but  a  coolness  between  Swift  and  Addi- 
son.   They  at  length  ceased  altogether  to  see  each  other.  15 
Yet  there  was  between  them  a   tacit  compact  like  that 
between  the  hereditary  guests  in  the  Iliad :  — 

"EYXfct  5'  aXK-r]\(^v  aXeo^ixeda  Kal  8l  OfiiXov 

JIoXXol  fjL€v  yap  i/iiol  Tpwes  /cXeirot  r   eTriKOvpot,, 

^TeiveiVy  6v  k€  debs  7e  iroprj  Kal  woaal  /cixetw,  20 

IIoAXot  5'  av  crol  'Axatoi  evaipep.ev^  6v  Ke  dvu-qai. 

It  is  not  strange  that  Addison,  who  calumniated  and 
insulted  nobody,  should  not  have  calumniated  or  insulted 
Swift.  But  it  is  remarkable  that  Swift,  to  whom  neither 
genius  nor  virtue  was  sacred,  and  who  generally  seemed  25 
to  find,  like  most  other  renegades,  a  peculiar  pleasure  in 
attacking  old  friends,  should  have  shown  so  much  respect 
and  tenderness  to  Addison. 

Fortune    had    now    changed.      The   accession    of   the 
House  of  Hanover  had  secured  in  England  the  liberties  30 
of  the  people,  and  in  Ireland  the  dominion  of  the  Protes- 
tant caste.      To  that  caste  Swift  was  more  odious  than 
any  other  man.     He  was  hooted  and  even  pelted  in  the 


78         THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

streets  of  Dublin  ;  and  could  not  venture  to  ride  along 
the  strand  for  his  health  without  the  attendance  of  armed 
servants.  Many  whom  he  had  formerly  served  now 
libeled  and  insulted  him.  At  this  time  Addison  arrived. 
5  He  had  been  advised  not  to  show  the  smallest  civility  to 
the  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's.  He  had  answered,  with  admir- 
able spirit,  that  it  might  be  necessary  for  men  whose 
fidelity  to  their  party  was  suspected  to  hold  no  intercourse 
with  political  opponents ;  but  that  one  who  had  been  a 

10  steady  Whig  in  the  worst  times  might  venture,  when  the 
•good  cause  was  triumphant,  to  shake  hands  with  an  old 
friend  who  was  one  of  the  vanquished  Tories.     His  kind- 
ness was  soothing  to  the  proud  and  cruelly  wounded  spirit 
of  Swift ;  and  the  two  great  satirists  resumed  their  habits 

15  of  friendly  intercourse. 

Those  associates  of  Addison  whose  political  opinions 
agreed  with  his  shared  his  good  fortune.  He  took  Tick- 
ell  with  him  to  Ireland.  He  procured  for  Budgell  a 
lucrative  place  in  the  same  kingdom.     Ambrose  Philips 

20  was  provided  for  in  England.  Steele  had  injured  himself 
so  much  by  his  eccentricity  and  perverseness  that  he  ob- 
tained but  a  very  small  part  of  what  he  thought  his  due. 
He  was,  however,  knighted;  he  had  a  place  in  the  house- 
hold ;  and  he  subsequently  received  other  marks  of  favor 

25  from  the  court! 

Addison  did  not  remain  long  in  Ireland.  In  17 15  he 
quitted  his  secretaryship  for  a  seat  at  the  Board  of  Trade. 
In  the  same  year  his  comedy  of  the  '  Drummer  '  was 
brought  on  the  stage.    The  name  of  the  author  was  not  an- 

30  nounced;  the  piece  was  coldly  received;  and  some  critics 
have  expressed  a  doubt  whether  it  were  really  Addison's. 
To  us  the  evidence,  both  external  and  internal,  seems 
decisive.  It  is  not  in  Addison's  best  manner;  but  it 
contains  numerous  passages  which  no  other  writer  known 


THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON         79 

to  us  could  have  produced.  It  was  again  performed 
after  Addison's  death,  and,  being  known  to  be  his,  was 
loudly  applauded. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  year  17 15,  while  the  rebel- 
lion was  still  raging  in  Scotland,  Addison  published  the  5 
first  number  of  a  paper  called  the  Freeholder.  Among  his 
political  works  the  Freeholder  is  entitled  to  the  first  place. 
Even  in  the  Spectator  there  are  few  serious  papers  nobler 
than  the  character  of  his  friend  Lord  Somers,  and  cer- 
tainly no  satirical  papers  superior  to  those  in  which  the  10 
Tory  fox-hunter  is  introduced.  This  character  is  the 
original  of  Squire  Western,  and  is  drawn  with  all  Field- 
ing's force,  and  with  a  delicacy  of  which  Fielding  was 
altogether  destitute.  As  none  of  Addison's  works  exhibit 
stronger  marks  of  his  genius  than  the  Freeholder^  so  none  15 
does  more  honor  to  his  moral  character.  It  is  difficult 
to  extol  too  highly  the  candor  and  humanity  of  a  political 
writer  whom  even  the  excitement  of  civil  war  cannot  hurry 
into  unseemly  violence.  Oxford,  it  is  well  known,  was 
then  the  stronghold  of  Toryism.  The  High  Street  had  20 
been  repeatedly  lined  with  bayonets  in  order  to  keep 
down  the  disaffected  gownsmen  ;  and  traitors  pursued  by 
the  messengers  of  the  government  had  been  concealed 
in  the  garrets  of  several  colleges.  Yet  the  admonition 
which,  even  under  such  circumstances,  Addison  addressed  25 
to  the  university,  is  singularly  gentle,  respectful,  and  even 
affectionate.  Indeed,  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart 
to  deal  harshly  even  with  imaginary  persons.  His  fox- 
hunter,  though  ignorant,  stupid,  and  violent,  is  at  heart  a 
good  fellow,  and  is  at  last  reclaimed  by  the  clemency  3° 
of  the  King.  Steele  was  dissatisfied  with  his  friend's 
moderation,  and,  though  he  acknowledged  that  the  Free- 
holder was  excellently  written,  complained  that  the  min- 
istry played  on  a  lute  when  it  was  necessary  to  blow  the 


80         THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

trumpet.  He  accordingly  determined  to  execute  a  flour- 
ish after  his  own  fashion,  and  tried  to  rouse  the  public 
spirit  of  the  nation  by  means  of  a  paper  called  the  Town 
Talk,  which  is  now  as  utterly  forgotten  as  his  Englishman, 
5  as  his  'Crisis,'  as  his  'Letter  to  the  Bailiff  of  Stock- 
bridge,'  as  his  Reader,  —  in  short,  as  everything  that  he 
wrote  without  the  help  of  Addison. 

In  the  same  year  in  which  the  '  Drummer '  was  acted, 
and  in  which  the  first  numbers  of  the  Freeholder  appeared, 

10  the  estrangement  of  Pope  and  Addison  became  complete. 
Addison  had  from  the  first  seen  that  Pope  was  false  and 
malevolent.  Pope  had  discovered  that  Addison  was  jeal- 
ous. The  discovery  was  made  in  a  strange  manner.  Pope 
had  written  the  '  Rape  of  the  Lock,'  in  two  cantos,  with- 

15  out  supernatural  machinery.  These  two  cantos  had  been 
loudly  applauded,  and  by  none  more  loudly  than  by  Addi- 
son. Then  Pope  thought  of  the  Sylphs  and  Gnomes, — 
Ariel,  Momentilla,  Crispissa,  and  Umbriel,  —  and  resolved 
to  interweave  the  Rosicrucian  mythology  with  the  original 

20  fabric.  He  asked  Addison's  advice.  Addison  said  that 
the  poem  as  it  stood  was  a  delicious  little  thing,  and  en- 
treated Pope  not  to  run  the  risk  of  marring  what  was  so 
excellent  in  trying  to  mend  it.  Pope  afterwards  declared 
that  this  insidious  counsel  first  opened  his  eyes  to  the 

25  baseness  of  him  who  gave  it. 

Now  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Pope's  plan  was  most 
ingenious,  and  that  he  afterwards  executed  it  with  great 
skill  and  success.  But  does  it  necessarily  follow  that. 
Addison's  advice  was  bad  .'*    And  if  Addison's  advice  was 

30  bad,  does  it  necessarily  follow  that  it  was  given  from  bad 
motives?  If  a  friend  were  to  ask  us  whether  we  would 
advise  him  to  risk  his  all  in  a  lottery  of  which  the  chances 
were  ten  to  one  against  him,  we  should  do  our  best  to 
dissuade  him  from  running  such  a  risk.     Even  if  he  were 


THE   LIFE    AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         81 

SO  lucky  as  to  get  the  thirty  thousand  pound  prize,  we 
should  not  admit  that  we  had  counseled  him  ill  ;  and 
we  should  certainly  think  it  the  height  of  injustice  in  him 
to  accuse  us  of  having  been  actuated  by  malice.  We 
think  Addison's  advice  good  advice.  It  rested  on  a  sound  5 
principle,  the  result  of  long  and  wide  experience.  The 
general  rule  undoubtedly  is  that,  when  a  successful  work 
of  imagination  has  been  produced,  it  should  not  be  recast. 
We  cannot  at  this  moment  call  to  mind  a  single  instance 
in  which  this  rule  has  been  transgressed  with  happy  10 
effect,  except  the  instance  of  the  '  Rape  of  the  Lock.' 
Tasso  recast  his  '  Jerusalem.'  Akenside  recast  his 
'  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination '  and  his  '  Epistle  to 
Curio.'  Pope  himself,  emboldened  no  doubt  by  the 
success  with  which  he  had  expanded  and  remodeled  15 
the  '  Rape  of  the  Lock,'  made  the  same  experiment 
on  the 'Dunciad.'  All  these  attempts  failed.  Who  was 
to  foresee  that  Pope  would,  once  in  his  life,  be  able  to  do 
what  he  could  not  himself  do  twice,  and  what  nobody  else 
has  ever  done  ?  20 

Addison's  advice  was  good.  But  had  it  been  bad,  why 
should  we  pronounce  it  dishonest .''  Scott  tells  us  that 
one  of  his  best  friends  predicted  the  failure  of  Waverley. 
Herder  adjured  Goethe  not  to  take  so  unpromising  a  sub- 
ject as  Faust.  Hume  tried  to  dissuade  Robertson  from  25 
writing  the  '  History  of  Charles  the  Fifth.'  Nay,  Pope 
himself  was  one  of  those  who  prophesied  that  '  Cato ' 
would  never  succeed  on  the  stage,  and  advised  Addison 
to  print  it  without  risking  a  representation.  But  Scott, 
Goethe,  Robertson,  Addison  had  the  good  sense  and  3° 
generosity  to  give  their  advisers  credit  for  the  best  inten- 
tions.    Pope's  heart  was  not  of  the  same  kind  with  theirs. 

In  17 15,  while  he  was  engaged  in  translating  the  Iliad, 
he  met  Addison  at  a  coffee-house.     Philips  and  Budgell 


82         THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

were  there ;  but  their  sovereign  got  rid  of  them,  and 
asked  Pope  to  dine  with  him  alone.  After  dinner,  Addi- 
son said  that  he  lay  under  a  difficulty  which  he  wished 
to  explain.  "  Tickell,"  he  said,  "  translated  some  time 
S  ago  the  first  book  of  the  Iliad.  I  have  promised  to  look 
it  over  and  correct  it.  I  cannot,  therefore,  ask  to  see 
yours  ;  for  that  would  be  double-dealing."  Pope  made  a 
civil  reply,  and  begged  that  his  second  book  might  have 
the  advantage  of    Addison's   revision.     Addison  readily 

10  agreed,  looked  over  the  second  book,  and  sent  it  back 
with  warm  commendations. 

Tickell's  version  of  the  first  book  appeared  soon  after 
this  conversation.  In  the  preface,  all  rivalry  was  ear- 
nestly disclaimed.     Tickell  declared  that  he  should  not 

15  go  on  with  the  Iliad.  That  enterprise  he  should  leave 
to  powers  which  he  admitted  to  be  superior  to  his  own. 
His  only  view,  he  said,  in  publishing  this  specimen  was 
to  bespeak  the  favor  of  the  public  to  a  translation  of  the 
Odyssey,  in  which  he  had  made  some  progress. 

20  Addison,  and  Addison's  devoted  followers,  pronounced 
both  the  versions  good,  but  maintained  that  Tickell's  had 
more  of  the  original.  The  town  gave  a  decided  prefer- 
ence to  Pope's.  We  do  not  think  it  worth  while  to  settle 
such  a  question  of  precedence.     Neither  of  the  rivals  can 

25  be  said  to  have  translated  the  Iliad,  unless,  indeed,  the 
word  translation  be  used  in  the  sense  which  it  bears 
in  the  '  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.'  When  Bottom 
makes  his  appearance  with  an  ass's  head  instead  of  his 
own,  Peter  Quince  exclaims,    "  Bless  thee  !  Bottom,  bless 

30  thee!  thou  art  translated."     In  this  sense,  undoubtedly, 

the  readers  of  either  Pope  or  Tickell  may  very  properly 

exclaim,  "Bless  thee.  Homer  !  thou  art  translated  indeed." 

Our  readers  will,  we  hope,  agree  with  us  in  thinking 

that    no   man   in    Addison's  situation    could   have   acted 


THE   LIFE   AND    IVKI TINGS   OF  ADDISON.        S3 

more  fairly  and  kindly,  both  towards  Pope  and  towards 
Tickell,  than  he  appears  to  have  done.  But  an  odious 
suspicion  had  sprung  up  in  the  mind  of  Pope.  He  fan- 
cied, and  he  soon  firmly  believed,  that  there  was  a  deep 
conspiracy  against  his  fame  and  his  fortunes.  The  5 
work  on  which  he  had  staked  his  reputation  was  to  be 
depreciated.  The  subscription  on  which  rested  his  hopes 
of  a  competence  was  to  be  defeated.  With  this  view 
Addison  had  made  a  rival  translation;  Tickell  had  con- 
sented to  father  it;  and  the  wits  of  Button's  had  united  10 
to  puff  it. 

Is  there  any  external  evidence  to  support  this  grave 
accusation  ?  The  answer  is  short.  There  is  absolutely 
none. 

Was  there  any  internal  evidence  which  proved  Addi-  15 
son  to  be  the  author  of  this  version  ?  Was  it  a  work 
which  Tickell  was  incapable  of  producing  ?  Surely  not. 
Tickell  was  a  fellow  of  a  college  at  Oxford,  and  must  be 
suppose'd  to  have  been  able  to  construe  the  Iliad;  and 
he  was  a  better  versifier  than  his  friend.  We  are  not  20 
aware  that  Pope  pretended  to  have  discovered  any  turns 
of  expression  peculiar  to  Addison.  Had  such  turns  of 
expression  been  discovered,  they  would  be  sufficiently 
accounted  for  by  supposing  Addison  to  have  corrected 
his  friend's  lines,  as  he  owned  that  he  had  done.  ^  25 

Is  there  anything  in  the  character  of  the  accused  per- 
sons which  makes  the  accusation  probable  ?  We  answer 
confidently — nothing.  Tickell  was  long  after  this  time 
described  by  Pope  himself  as  a  very  fair  and  worthy  man. 
Addison  had  been,  during  many  years,  before  the  public.  3^ 
Literary  rivals,  political  opponents,  had  kept  their  eyes 
on  him.  But  neither  envy  nor  faction,  in  its  utmost 
rage,  had  ever  imputed  to  him  a  single  deviation  from  the 
laws   of  honor   and   of   social    morality.     Had   he    been 


84         THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

indeed  a  man  meanly  jealous  of  fame,  and  capable  of 
stooping  to  base  and  wicked  acts  for  the  purpose  of  injur- 
ing his  competitors,  would  his  vices  have  remained  latent 
so    long  ?     He    was   a  writer   of  tragedy :   had  he   ever 

5  injured  Rowe  ?  He  was  a  writer  of  comedy  :  had  he  not 
done  ample  justice  to  Congreve,  and  given  valuable  help 
to  Steele  ?  He  was  a  pamphleteer :  have  not  his  good 
nature  and  generosity  been  acknowledged  by  Swift,  his 
rival  in  fame  and  his  adversary  in  politics  ? 

lo  That  Tickell  should  have  been  guilty  of  a  villainy 
seems  to  us  highly  improbable.  That  Addison  should 
have  been  guilty  of  a  villainy  seems  to  us  highly  im- 
probable. But  that  these  two  men  should  have  conspired 
together  to  commit  a  villainy  seems  to  us  improbable  in  a 

15  tenfold  degree.  All  that  is  known  to  us  of  their  inter- 
course tends  to  prove  that  it  was  not  the  intercourse 
of  two  accomplices  in  crime.  These  are  some  of  the  lines 
in  which  Tickell  poured  forth  his  sorrow  over  the  cofhn 
of  Addison  :  — 

20  "  Or  dost  thou  warn  poor  mortals  left  behind, 

A  task  well  suited  to  thy  gentle  mind  ? 
Oh,  if  sometimes  thy  spotless  form  descend, 
To  me  thine  aid,  thou  guardian  genius,  lend. 
When  rage  misguides  me,  or  when  fear  alarms, 

25  When  pain  distresses,  or  when  pleasure  charms, 

In  silent  whisperings  purer  thoughts  impart. 
And  turn  from  ill  a  frail  and  feeble  heart ; 
Lead  through  the  paths  thy  virtue  trod  before. 
Till  bliss  shall  join,  nor  death  can  part  us  more." 

30  In  what  words,  we  should  like  to  know,  did  this  guard- 
ian genius  invite  his  pupil  to  join  in  a  plan  such  as  the 
editor  of  the  Satirist  would  hardly  dare  to  propose  to 
the  editor  of  the  Agel 

We  do  not  accuse  Pope  of  bringing  an  accusation  which 

35  he  knew  to  be  false.     We  have  not  the  smallest  doubt 


THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON        85 

that  he  believed  it  to  be  true ;  and  the  evidence  on  which 
he  beheved  it  he  found  in  his  own  bad  heart.  His  own 
Hfe  was  one  long  series  of  tricks,  as  mean  and  as  mali- 
cious as  that  of  which  he  suspected  Addison  and  Tickell. 
He  was  all  stiletto  and  mask.  To  injure,  to  insult,  and  5 
to  save  himself  from  the  consequences  of  injury  and 
insult  by  lying  and  equivocating,  was  the  habit  of  his  life. 
He  published  a  lampoon  on  the  Duke  of  Chandos;  he 
was  taxed  with  it ;  and  he  lied  and  equivocated.  He  pub- 
lished a  lampoon  on  Aaron  Hill ;  he  was  taxed  with  it ;  10 
and  he  lied  and  equivocated.  He  published  a  still  fouler 
lampoon  on  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu;  he  was  taxed 
with  it ;  and  he  lied  with  more  than  usual  effrontery  and 
vehemence.  He  puffed  himself  and  abused  his  enemies 
under  feigned  names.  He  robbed  himself  of  his  own  15 
letters,  and  then  raised  the  hue  and  cry  after  them. 
Besides  his  frauds  of  malignity,  of  fear,  of  interest,  and 
of  vanity,  there  were  frauds  which  he  seems  to  have  com- 
mitted from  love  of  fraud  alone.  He  had  a  habit  of 
stratagem,  a  pleasure  in  outwitting  all  who  came  near  20 
him.  Whatever  his  object  might  be,  the  indirect  road  to 
it  was  that  which  he  preferred.  For  Bolingbroke  Pope 
undoubtedly  felt  as  much  love  and  veneration  as  it  was 
in  his  nature  to  feel  for  any  human  being.  Yet  Pope 
was  scarcely  dead  when  it  was  discovered  that,  from  no  25 
motive  except  the  mere  love  of  artifice,  he  had  been  guilty 
of  an  act  of  gross  perfidy  to  Bolingbroke. 

Nothing  was  more  natural  than  that  such  a  man  as  this 
should  attribute  to  others  that  which  he  felt  within  him- 
self. A  plain,  probable,  coherent  explanation  is  frankly  3° 
given  to  him.  He  is  certain  that  it  is  all  a  romance.  A 
line  of  conduct  scrupulously  fair,  and  even  friendly, 
is  pursued  towards  him.  He  is  convinced  that  it  is 
merely  a  cover  for  a  vile  intrigue  by  which  he  is  to  be 


86         THE  LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

disgraced  and  ruined.  It  is  vain  to  ask  him  for  proofs. 
He  has  none,  and  wants  none,  except  those  which  he 
carries  in  his  own  bosom. 

Whether  Pope's  mahgnity  at  length  provoked  Addison 
5  to  retaliate  for  the  first  and  last  time  cannot  now  be 
known  with  certainty.  We  have  only  Pope's  story, 
which  runs  thus.  A  pamphlet  appeared  containing  some 
reflections  which  stung  Pope  to  the  quick.  What  those 
reflections  were,   and  whether   they  were    reflections  of 

lo  which  he  had  a  right  to  complain,  we  have  now  no  means 
of  deciding.  The  Earl  of  Warwick,  a  foolish  and  vicious 
lad,  who  regarded  Addison  with  the  feelings  with  which 
such  lads  generally  regard  their  best  friends,  told  Pope, 
truly  or  falsely,  that  this  pamphlet  had  been  written  by 

15  Addison's  direction.  When  we  consider  what  a  tendency 
stories  have  to  grow,  in  passing  even  from  one  honest 
man  to  another  honest  man,  and  when  we  consider  that 
to  the  name  of  honest  man  neither  Pope  nor  the  Earl  of 
Warwick    had   a   claim,   we    are  not  disposed  to  attach 

20  much  importance  to  this  anecdote. 

It  is  certain,  however,  that  Pope  was  furious.  He  had 
already  sketched  the  character  of  Atticus  in  prose.  In 
his  anger  he  turned  this  prose  into  the  brilliant  and  ener- 
getic lines  which  everybody  knows  by  heart,  or  ought  to 

25  know  by  heart,  and  sent  them  to  Addison.  One  charge 
which  Pope  has  enforced  with  great  skill  is  probably  not 
without  foundation.  Addison  was,  we  are  inclined  to 
believe,  too  fond  of  presiding  over  a  circle  of  humble 
friends.     Of  the  other  imputations  which  these  famous 

30  lines  are  intended  to  convey,  scarcely  one  has  ever  been 
proved  to  be  just,  and  ^me  are  certainly  false.  That 
Addison  was  not  in  the  habit  of  "  damning  with  faint 
praise  "  appears  from  innumerable  passages  in  his  writ- 
ings, and  from  none  more  than  from  those  in  which  he 


THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.        87 

mentions  Pope.  And  it  is  not  merely  unjust,  but  ridicu- 
lous, to  describe  a  man  who  made  the  fortune  of  almost 
every  one  of  his  intimate  friends  as  "  so  obliging  that  he 
ne'er  obliged." 

That  Addison  felt  the  sting  of  Pope's  satire  keenly  we    5 
cannot  doubt.      That  he   was  conscious  of    one   of   the 
weaknesses  with  which  he  was  reproached  is  highly  prob- 
able.    But  his  heart,  we  firmly  believe,  acquitted  him  of 
the  gravest  part  of  the  accusation.     He  acted  like  him- 
self.   As  a  satirist  he  was,  at  his  own  weapons,  more  than  10 
Pope's  match ;  and  he  would  have  been  at  no  loss  for 
topics.     A  distorted  and  diseased  body,  tenanted  by  a  yet 
more  distorted  and  diseased  mind;  spite  and  envy  thinly 
disguised  by  sentiments  as  benevolent  and  noble  as  those 
which  Sir  Peter  Teazle  admired  in  Mr.  Joseph  Surface;  a  15 
feeble,  sickly  licentiousness;  an  odious  love  of  filthy  and 
noisome  images;  —  these  were  things  which  a  genius  less 
powerful  than  that  to  which  we  owe  the  Spectator  could 
easily  have  held  up  to  the  mirth  and  hatred  of  mankind. 
Addison  had,  moreover,  at  his  com.mand  other  means  of  20 
vengeance  which  a  bad  man  would  not  have  scrupled  to 
use.    He  was  powerful  in  the  State.    Pope  was  a  Catholic; 
and  in  those  times,  a  minister  would  have  found  it  easy 
to   harass   the  most    innocent   Catholic    by  innumerable 
petty  vexations.     Pope,  near  twenty  years  later,  said  that  25 
"  through  the   lenity  of  the  government  alone  he  could 
live   with    comfort."      '*  Consider,"   he    exclaimed,   "  the 
injury  that  a  man  of  high  rank  and  credit  may  do  to  a 
private  person,  under  penal  laws  and  many  other  disad- 
vantages."    It  is  pleasing  to  reflect  that  the  only  revenge  3° 
which  Addison  took  was  to  insert  in  the  Freeholder  a  warm 
encomium  on  the  translation  of  the  Iliad,  and  to  exhort 
all  lovers  of  learning  to  put  down  their  names  as  sub- 
scribers.    There  could  be  no  doubt,  he  said,  from  the 


88          THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

specimens  already  published,  that  the  masterly  hand  of 
Pope  would  do  as  much  for  Homer  as  Dryden  had  done 
for  Virgil.  From  that  time  to  the  end  of  his  life,  he 
always  treated    Pope,  by  Pope's  own    acknowledgment, 

5  with  justice.     Friendship  was,  of  course,  at  an  end. 

One  reason  which  induced  the  Earl  of  Warwick  to 
play  the  ignominious  part  of  talebearer  on  this  occasion 
may  have  been  his  dislike  of  the  marriage  which  was 
about  to  take  place  between  his  mother  and  Addison. 

lo  The  Countess  Dowager,  a  daughter  of  the  old  and  honor- 
able family  of  the  Middletons  of  Chirk,  —  a  family  which, 
in  any  country  but  ours,  would  be  called  noble,  —  resided 
at  Holland  House.  Addison  had,  during  some  years,  occu- 
pied at  Chelsea  a  small  dwelling,  once  the  abode  of  Nell 

15  Gwynn.  Chelsea  is  now  a  district  of  London,  and  Hol- 
land House  may  be  called  a  town  residence.  But  in  the 
days  of  Anne  and  George  the  First,  milkmaids  and  sports- 
men wandered  between  green  hedges  and  over  fields 
bright  with  daisies,  from  Kensington  almost  to  the  shore 

20  of  the  Thames.  Addison  and  Lady  Warwick  were  coun- 
try neighbors,  and  became  intimate  friends.  The  great 
wit  and  scholar  tried  to  allure  the  young  lord  from  the 
fashionable  amusements  of  beating  watchmen,  breaking 
windows,  and  rolling  women  in  hogsheads  down  Holborn 

25  Hill,  to  the  study  of  letters  and  the  practice  of  virtue. 
These  well-meant  exertions  did  little  good,  however, 
either  to  the  disciple  or  to  the  master.  Lord  Warwick 
grew  up  a  rake  ;  and  Addison  fell  in  love.  The  mature 
beauty  of  the  Countess  has  been  celebrated  by  poets  in 

30  language  which,  after  a  very  large  allowance  has  been 
made  for  flattery,  would  lead  us  to  believe  that  she  was 
a  fine  woman;  and  her  rank  doubtless  heightened  her 
attractions.  The  courtship  was  long.  The  hopes  of  the 
lover  appear  to  have  risen  and  fallen  with  the  fortunes  of 


THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         89 

his  party.  His  attachment  was  at  length  matter  of  such 
notoriety  that,  when  he  visited  Ireland  for  the  last  time, 
Rowe  addressed  some  consolatory  verses  to  the  Chloe  of 
Holland  House.  It  strikes  us  as  a  little  strange  that,  in 
these  verses,  Addison  should  be  called  Lycidas,  a  name  5 
of  singularly  evil  omen  for  a  swain  just  about  to  cross  St. 
George's  Channel. 

At  length  Chloe  capitulated.  Addison  was  indeed  able 
to  treat  with  her  on  equal  terms.  He  had  reason  to 
expect  preferment  even  higher  than  that  which  he  had  10 
attained.  He  had  inherited  the  fortune  of  a  brother 
who  died  Governor  of  Madras.  He  had  purchased  an 
estate  in  Warwickshire,  and  had  been  welcomed  to  his 
domain  in  very  tolerable  verse  by  one  of  the  neighboring 
squires,  the  poetical  fox-hunter,  William  Somervile.  In  15 
August,  17 16,  the  newspapers  announced  that  Joseph 
Addison,  Esquire,  famous  for  many  excellent  works,  both 
in  verse  and  prose,  had  espoused  the  Countess  Dowager 
of  Warwick. 

He  now  fixed  his  abode  at  Holland  House,  —  a  house  20 
which  can  boast  of  a  greater  number  of  inmates  distin- 
guished in  political  and  literary  history  than  any  other 
private  dwelling  in  England.  His  portrait  still  hangs 
there.  The  features  are  pleasing ;  the  complexion  is 
remarkably  fair ;  but  in  the  expression  we  trace  rather  25 
the  gentleness  of  his  disposition  than  the  force  and  keen- 
ness of  his  intellect. 

Not  long  after  his  marriage  he  reached  the  height  of 
civil  greatness.  The  Whig  Government  had,  during  some 
time,  been  torn  by  internal  dissensions.  Lord  Townshend  3° 
led  one  section  of  the  Cabinet,  Lord  Sunderland  the  other. 
At  length,  in  the  spring  of  17 17,  Sunderland  triumphed. 
Townshend  retired  from  office,  and  was  accompanied  by 
Walpole  and  Cowper.      Sunderland  proceeded  to  recon- 


90  THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

Struct  the  Ministry ;  and  Addison  was  appointed  Secretary 
of  State.  It  is  certain  that  the  seals  were  pressed  upon 
him,  and  were  at  first  declined  by  him.  Men  equally 
versed  in  official  business  might  easily  have  been  found ; 
5  and  his  colleagues  knew  that  they  could  not  expect  assist- 
ance from  him  in  debate.  He  owed  his  elevation  to  his 
popularity,  to  his  stainless  probity,  and  to  his  literary 
fame. 

But  scarcely  had  Addison  entered  the  Cabinet  when  his 

lo  health  began  to  fail.  From  one  serious  attack  he  recov- 
ered in  the  autumn ;  and  his  recovery  was  celebrated  in 
Latin  verses,  worthy  of  his  own  pen,  by  Vincent  Bourne, 
who  was  then  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  A  relapse 
soon  took  place  ;  and  in  the  following  spring,  Addison 

15  was  prevented  by  a  severe  asthma  from  discharging  the 
duties  of  his  post.  He  resigned  it,  and  was  succeeded 
by  his  friend  Craggs,  a  young  man  whose  natural  parts, 
though  little  improved  by  cultivation,  were  quick  and 
showy,  whose  graceful  person  and  winning  manners  had 

20  made  him  generally  acceptable  in  society,  and  who,  if  he 
had  lived,  would  probably  have  been  the  most  formidable 
of  all  the  rivals  of  Walpole. 

As  yet  there  was  no  Joseph  Hume.      The  ministers, 
therefore,   were   able   to   bestow   on  Addison   a    retiring 

25  pension  of  fifteen  hundred  pounds  a  year.  In  what  form 
this  pension  was  given  we  are  not  told  by  the  biogra- 
phers, and  have  not  time  to  inquire.  But  it  is  certain 
that  Addison  did  not  vacate  his  seat  in  the  House  of 
Commons. 

30  Rest  of  mind  and  body  seems  to  have  reestablished  his 
health ;  and  he  thanked  God,  with  cheerful  piety,  for  hav- 
ing set  him  free  both  from  his  office  and  from  his  asthma. 
Many  years  seemed  to  be  before  him,  and  he  meditated 
many  works, —a  tragedy  on  the  death  of  Socrates,  a  trans- 


THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.         91 

lation  of  the  Psalms,  a  treatise  on  the  evidences  of  Chris- 
tianity. Of  this  last  performance  a  part,  which  we  could 
well  spare,  has  come  down  to  us.  ^ 

But  the  fatal  complaint  soon  returned,  and  gradually 
prevailed  against  all  the  resources  of  medicine.  It  is  mel-  5 
ancholy  to  think  that  the  last  months  of  such  a  life  should 
have  been  overclouded  both  by  domestic  and  by  political 
vexations.  A  tradition  which  began  early,  which  has 
been  generally  received,  and  to  which  we  have  nothing  to 
oppose,  has  represented  his  wife  as  an  arrogant  and  impe-  lo 
rious  woman.  It  is  said  that,  till  his  health  failed  him, 
he  was  glad  to  escape  from  the  Countess  Dowager  and 
her  magnificent  dining-room,  blazing  with  the  gilded 
devices  of  the  House  of  Rich,  to  some  tavern  where  he 
could  enjoy  a  laugh,  a  talk  about  Virgil  and  Boileau,  and  15 
a  bottle  of  claret  with  the  friends  of  his  happier  days. 
All  those  friends,  however,  were  not  left  to  him.  Sir 
Richard  Steele  had  been  gradually  estranged  by  various 
causes.  He  considered  himself  as  one  who,  in  evil  times, 
had  braved  martyrdom  for  his  political  principles,  and  20 
demanded,  when  the  Whig  party  was  triumphant,  a  large 
compensation  for  what  he  had  suffered  when  it  was  mili- 
tant. The  Whig  leaders  took  a  very  different  view  of  his 
claims.  They  thought  that  he  had,  by  his  own  petulance 
and  folly,  brought  them  as  well  as  himself  into  trouble,  25 
and,  though  they  did  not  absolutely  neglect  him,  doled 
out  favors  to  him  with  a  sparing  hand.  It  was  natural 
that  he  should  be  angry  with  them,  and  especially  angry 
with  Addison.  But  what  above  all  seems  to  have  dis- 
turbed  Sir  Richard  was  the  elevation  of  Tickell,  who,  at  30 
thirty,  was  made  by  Addison  Undersecretary  of  State, 
while  the  editor  of  the  Tatler  and  Spectator.,  the  author  of 
the  '■  Crisis,'  the  member  for  Stockbridge  who  had  been 
persecuted  for  firm  adherence  to  the  House  of  Hanover, 


92         THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

was,  at  near  fifty,  forced,  after  many  solicitations  and 
complaints,  to  content  himself  with  a  share  in  the  patent 
of  Drury  Lane  Theater.  Steele  himself  says,  in  his  cele- 
brated letter  to  Congreve,  that  Addison,  by  his  preference 
5  of  Tickell,  "  incurred  the  warmest  resentment  of  other 
gentlemen  "  ;  and  everything  seems  to  indicate  that  of 
those  resentful  gentlemen  Steele  was  himself  one. 

While  poor  Sir  Richard  was  brooding  over  what  he 
considered  as  Addison's  unkindness,  a  new  cause  of  quar- 

lo  rel  arose.  The  Whig  party,  already  divided  against  itself, 
was  rent  by  a  new  schism.  The  celebrated  bill  for  limit- 
ing the  number  of  peers  had  been  brought  in.  The  proud 
Duke  of  Somerset,  first  in  rank  of  all  the  nobles  whose 
religion   permitted   them  to   sit  in   Parliament,  was  the 

IS  ostensible  author  of  the  measure.  But  it  was  supported, 
and,  in  truth,  devised  by  the  Prime  Minister. 

We  are  satisfied  that  the  bill  was  most  pernicious;  and 
we  fear  that  the  motives  which  induced  Sunderland  to 
frame  it  were    not  honorable    to   him.     But   we   cannot 

20  deny  that  it  was  supported  by  many  of  the  best  and 
wisest  men  of  that  age.  Nor  was  this  strange.  The 
royal  prerogative  had,  within  the  memory  of  the  genera- 
tion then  in  the  vigor  of  life,  been  so  grossly  abused 
that  it  was  still    regarded  with  a  jealousy  which,  when 

25  the  peculiar  situation  of  the  House  of  Brunswick  is  con- 
sidered, may  perhaps  be  called  immoderate.  The  par- 
ticular prerogative  of  creating  peers  had,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  Whigs,  been  grossly  abused  by  Queen  Anne's  last 
Ministry;  and  even  the  Tories  admitted  that  her  Majesty, 

3°  in  swamping,  as  it  has  since  been  called,  the  Upper 
House,  had  done  what  only  an  extreme  case  could  justify. 
The  theory  of  the  English  constitution,  according  to 
many  high  authorities,  was  that  three  independent 
powers,  the  sovereign,  the  nobility,  and    the  commons. 


THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON.        93 

ought  constantly  to  act  as  checks  on  each  other.  If  this 
theory  were  sound,  it  seemed  to  follow  that  to  put  one  of 
these  powers  under  the  absolute  control  of  the  other  two 
was  absurd.  But  if  the  number  of  peers  were  unlimited, 
it  could  not  well  be  denied  that  the  Upper  House  was  5 
under  the  absolute  control  of  the  Crown  and  the  Com- 
mons, and  was  indebted  only  to  their  moderation  for  any 
power  which  it  might  be  suffered  to  retain. 

Steele  took  part  with  the   Opposition,  Addison  with 
the   ministers.     Steele,   in   a   paper   called   the  Plebeian^  10 
vehemently    attacked    the    bill.      Sunderland    called   for 
help  on  Addison,  and  Addison  obeyed   the  call.     In  a 
paper  called  the  Old  Whig  he  answered,  and  indeed  re- 
futed, Steele's  arguments.     It  seems  to  us  that  the  prem- 
ises of  both  the  controversialists  were  unsound;  that,  on  15 
those  premises,  Addison  reasoned  well  and  Steele  ill,  and 
that  consequently  Addison    brought  out  a  false  conclu- 
sion, while  Steele  blundered  upon  the  truth.     In  style,  in 
wit,  and  in  politeness,  Addison  maintained  his  superiority, 
though  the  Old  Whig  is  by  no  means  one  of  his  happiest  20 
performances. 

At  first,  both  the  anonymous  opponents  observed  the 
laws  of  propriety.  But  at  length  Steele  so  far  forgot 
himself  as  to  throw  an  odious  imputation  on  the  morals 
of  the  chiefs  of  the  administration.  Addison  replied  25 
with  severity,  but,  in  our  opinion,  with  less  severity  than 
was  due  to  so  grave  an  offense  against  morality  and 
decorum;  nor  did  he,  in  his  just  anger,  forget  for  a 
moment  the  laws  of  good  taste  and  good  breeding. 
One  calumny  which  has  been  often  repeated,  and  never  30 
yet  contradicted,  it  is  our  duty  to  expose.  It  is  asserted 
in  the  '  Biographia  Britannica  '  that  Addison  designated 
Steele  as  "little  Dicky."  This  assertion  was  repeated 
by  Johnson,  who  had  never  seen  the  Old  Whig,  and  was 


94         THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

therefore  excusable.  It  has  also  been  repeated  by  Miss 
Aikin,  who  has  seen  the  Old  Whig,  and  for  whom  there- 
fore there  is  less  excuse.  Now,  it  is  true  that  the  words 
"  little  Dicky  "  occur  in  the  Old  Whig,  and  that  Steele's 
5  name  was  Richard.  It  is  equally  true  that  the  words 
"little  Isaac"  occur  in  the  'Duenna,'  and  that  Newton's 
name  was  Isaac.  But  we  confidently  affirm  that  Addi- 
son's little  Dicky  had  no  more  to  do  with  Steele  than 
Sheridan's  little   Isaac  with   Newton.     If   we  apply  the 

lo  words  "little  Dicky  "  to  Steele,  we  deprive  a  very  lively 
and  ingenious  passage,  not  only  of  all  its  wit,  but  of  all 
its  meaning.  Little  Dicky  was  the  nickname  of  Henry 
Norris,  an  actor  of  remarkably  small  stature,  but  of  great 
humor,  who  played  the  usurer  Gomez,  then  a  most  popu- 

15  lar  part,  in  Dryden's  '  Spanish  Friar.' 

The  merited  reproof  which  Steele  had  received,  though 
softened  by  some  kind  and  courteous  expressions,  galled 
him  bitterly.  He  replied  with  little  force  and  great 
acrimony  ;  but  no  rejoinder  appeared.     Addison  was  fast 

20  hastening  to  his  grave ;  and  had,  we  may  well  suppose, 
little  disposition  to  prosecute  a  quarrel  with  an  old  friend. 
His  complaint  had  terminated  in  dropsy.  He  bore  up 
long  and  manfully.  But  at  length  he  abandoned  all 
hope,  dismissed  his  physicians,  and  calmly  prepared  him- 

25  self  to  die. 

His  works  he  intrusted  to  the  care  of  Tickell,  and  dedi- 
cated them  a  very  few  days  before  his  death  to  Craggs, 
in  a  letter  written  with  the  sweet  and  graceful  eloquence 
of  a  Saturday's  Spectato?'.     In  this,  his  last  composition, 

30  he  alluded  to  his  approaching  end  in  words  so  manly,  so 
cheerful,  and  so  tender  that  it  is  difficult  to  read  them 
without  tears.     At   the   same  time   he   earnestly   recom- 
mended the  interests  of  Tickell  to  the  care  of  Craggs. 
Within  a  few  hours  of  the  time  at  which  this  dedica- 


THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS   OE  ADDISON        95 

tion  was  written,  Addison  sent  to  beg  Gay,  who  was  then 
living  by  his  wits  about  town,  to  come  to  HoUand  House. 
Gay  went,  and  was   received  with  great  kindness.     To 
iiis  amazement  his  forgiveness  was  implored  by  the  dying 
man.     Poor  Gay,  the  most  good-natured  and  simple  of    5 
mankind,   could    not  imagine   what    he    had    to   forgive. 
There  was,  however,  some  wrong,  the   remembrance  of 
which  weighed  on  Addison's  mind,  and  which  he  declared 
himself  anxious  to  repair.     He  was  in  a  state  of  extreme 
exhaustion  ;  and  the  parting  was  doubtless  a  friendly  one  10 
on  both  sides.     Gay  supposed   that  some  plan  to  serve 
him  had  been  in  agitation  at  Court,  and  had  been  frus- 
trated by  Addison's  influence.     Nor  is  this  improbable. 
Gay  had  paid  assiduous  court  to  the  royal  family.     But 
in  the  Queen's  days  he  had  been  the  eulogist  of  Boling-  15 
broke,  and  was  still  connected  with  many  Tories.     It  is 
not  strange  that  Addison,  while  heated  by  conflict,  should 
have  thought  himself  justified  in  obstructing  the  prefer- 
ment of  one  whom  he  might  regard  as  a  political  enemy. 
Neither  is  it  strange  that,  when  reviewing  his  whole  life,  20 
and    earnestly    scrutinizing    all    his    motives,   he    should 
think  that  he  had  acted  an  unkind  and  ungenerous  part 
in  using  his  power  against  a  distressed  man  of  letters, 
who  was  as  harmless  and  as  helpless  as  a  child. 

One  inference  may  be  drawn  from  this  anecdote.  It  -5 
appears  that  Addison,  on  his  death  bed,  called  himself  to 
a  strict  account,  and  was  not  at  ease  till  he  had  asked 
pardon  for  an  injury  which  it  was  not  even  suspected 
that  he  had  committed,  —  for  an  injury  which  would  have 
caused  disquiet  only  to  a  very  tender  conscience.  Is  it  3° 
not  then  reasonable  to  infer  that,  if  he  had  really  been 
guilty  of  forming  a  base  conspiracy  against  the  fame  and 
fortunes  of  a  rival,  he  would  have  expressed  some  re- 
morse for  so  serious  a  crime  ?     But  it  is  unnecessary  to 


96         THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

multiply  arguments  and  evidence  for  the  defense  when 
there  is  neither  argument  nor  evidence  for  the  accusation. 
The  last  moments  of  Addison  were  perfectly  serene. 
His  interview  with  his  son-in-law  is  universally  known. 
5  "  See,"  he  said,  "  how  a  Christian  can  die."  The  piety 
of  Addison  was,  in  truth,  of  a  singularly  cheerful  charac- 
ter. The  feeling  which  predominates  in  all  his  devo- 
tional writings  is  gratitude.  God  was  to  him  the  all-wise 
and  all-powerful  friend  who  had  watched  over  his  cradle 

lo  with  more  than  maternal  tenderness ;  who  had  listened 
to  his  cries  before  they  could  form  themselves  in  prayer ; 
who  had  preserved  his  youth  from  the  snares  of  vice; 
who  had  made  his  cup  run  over  with  worldly  bless- 
ings ;  who  had  doubled  the  value  of  those  blessings  by 

15  bestowing  a  thankful  heart  to  enjoy  them,  and  dear 
friends  to  partake  them ;  who  had  rebuked  the  waves  of 
the  Ligurian  gulf,  had  purified  the  autumnal  air  of  the 
Campagna,  and  had  restrained  the  avalanches  of  Mont 
Cenis.     Of  the  Psalms,  his  favorite  was  that  which  repre- 

20  sents  the  Ruler  of  all  things  under  the  endearing  image 
of  a  shepherd,  whose  crook  guides  the  flock  safe,  through 
gloomy  and  desolate  glens,  to  meadows  well  watered  and 
rich  with  herbage.  On  that  goodness  to  which  he  as- 
cribed all  the  happiness  of  his  life  he  relied  in  the  hour 

25  of  death  with  the  love  which  casteth  out  fear.  He  died 
on  the  17th  of  June,  17 19.  He  had  just  entered  on  his 
forty-eighth  year. 

His  body  lay  in  state  in  the  Jerusalem  Chamber,  and 
was  borne  thence  to  the  Abbey  at  dead  of  night.     The 

30  choir  sang  a  funeral  hymn.  Bishop  Atterbury,  one  of 
those  Tories  who  had  loved  and  honored  the  most  accom- 
plished of  the  Whigs,  met  the  corpse,  and  led  the  proces- 
sion by  torchlight,  round  the  shrine  of  Saint  Edward  and 
the  graves  of  the  Plantagenets,  to  the  Chapel  of  Henry 


THE   LIFE   AND    WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON        97 

the  Seventh.  On  the  north  side  of  that  chapel,  in  the 
vault  of  the  House  of  Albemarle,  the  coffin  of  Addison 
lies  next  to  the  coffin  of  Montagu.  Yet  a  few  months, 
and  the  same  mourners  passed  again  along  the  same 
aisle.  The  same  sad  anthem  was  again  chanted.  The  5 
same  vault  was  again  opened ;  and  the  coffin  of  Craggs 
was  placed  close  to  the  coffin  of  Addison. 

Many  tributes  were  paid  to  the  memory  of  Addison ; 
but  one  alone  is  now  remembered.  Tickell  bewailed  his 
friend  in  an  elegy  which  would  do  honor  to  the  greatest  lo 
name  in  our  literature,  and  which  unites  the  energy  and 
magnificence  of  Dryden  to  the  tenderness  and  purity  of 
Cowper.  This  fine  poem  was  prefixed  to  a  superb  edi- 
tion of  Addison's  works,  which  was  published,  in  1721, 
by  subscription.  The  names  of  the  subscribers  proved  15 
how  widely  his  fame  had  been  spread.  That  his  country- 
men should  be  eager  to  possess  his  writings,  even  in  a 
costly  form,  is  not  wonderful.  But  it  is  wonderful  that, 
though  English  literature  was  then  little  studied  on  the 
continent,  Spanish  grandees,  Italian  prelates,  marshals  20 
of  France,  should  be  found  in  the  list.  Among  the  most 
remarkable  names  are  those  of  the  Queen  of  Sweden,  of 
Prince  Eugene,  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  of  the 
Dukes  of  Parma,  Modena,  and  Guastalla,  of  the  Doge  of 
Genoa,  of  the  Regent  Orleans,  and  of  Cardinal  Dubois.  25 
We  ought  to  add  that  this  edition,  though  eminently 
beautiful,  is  in  some  important  points  defective  ;  nor, 
indeed,  do  we  yet  possess  a  complete  collection  of  Addi- 
son's writings. 

It  is  strange  that  neither  his  opulent  and  noble  widow  3<^ 
nor  any  of    his    powerful   and   attached   friends   should 
have  thought  of  placing  even  a  simple  tablet,  inscribed 
with  his  name,  on  the  walls  of  the  Abbey.     It  was  not 
till  three  generations  had    laughed  and  wept   over   his 


98         THE   LIFE   Ah'D   WRITINGS   OF  ADDISON. 

pages  that  the  omission  was  supplied  by  the  public  ven 
eration.  At  length,  in  our  own  time,  his  image,  skillfully 
graven,  appeared  in  the  Poet's  Corner.  It  represents 
him,  as  we  can  conceive  him,  clad  in  his  dressing  gown 

5  and  freed  from  his  wig,  stepping  from  his  parlor  at 
Chelsea  into  his  trim  little  garden,  with  the  account  of 
the  Everlasting  Club  or  the  Loves  of  Hilpa  and  Shalum, 
just  finished  for  the  next  day's  Spectator^  in  his  hand. 
Such  a  mark  of  national  respect  was  due  to  the  unsullied 

10  statesman,  to  the  accomplished  scholar,  to  the  master  of 
pure  English  eloquence,  to  the  consummate  painter  of 
life  and  manners.  It  was  due,  above  all,  to  the  great 
satirist,  who  alone  knew  how  to  use  ridicule  without 
abusing  it;  who,  without  inflicting  a  wound,  effected  a 

15  great  social  reform;  and  who  reconciled  wit  and  virtue, 
after  a  long  and  disastrous  separation,  during  which 
wit  had  been  led  astray  by  profligacy,  and  virtue  by 
fanaticism. 


NOTES. 


July,  1843.  This  was  the  date  of  the  first  publication  of  the  Essay, 
which  was  originally  a  contribution  to  the  Edinburgh  Review  under  the 
form  of  a  notice  of  The  Life  of  Joseph  Addiso7i,  by  Lucy  Aikin. 

1  12.  The  courteous  knight.  Rogero,  one  of  the  characters  in  Ari- 
osto's  poetical  romance,  Orlando  Ftirioso.  Bradamante  was  a  maiden- 
knight,  and  Rogero  would  not  use  against  her  his  customary  weapon, 
the  sword  Balisarda,  which  was  endowed  with  magic  power. 

2  4.     The  Laputan  flapper.  See  Gtclliver's  Travels,  Part  III.  Chap.  2. 
2  6.     In  a  letter  to  Napier,  then  editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review, 

written  during  the  preparation  of  this  Essay,  Macaulay  had  said  :  "  I 
am  truly  vexed  to  find  Miss  Aikin's  book  so  very  bad  that  it  is  impos- 
sible for  us,  with  due  regard  to  our  own  character,  to  praise  it.  All  that 
I  can  do  is  to  speak  civilly  of  her  writings  generally,  and  to  express 
regret  that  she  should  have  been  nodding.  .  .  .  Yet  it  goes  much 
against  my  feelings  to  censure  any  woman,  even  with  the  greatest 
lenity.  ...  I  shall  not  again  undertake  to  review  any  lady's  book  till 
I  know  how  it  is  executed." 

2  14.  Miss  Aikin  had  won  considerable  literary  reputation  by  the 
publication  of  Memoirs  of  the  Courts  of  Elizabeth,  James  I.,  and 
Charles  I. 

2  16.  Congreve  (1670-1729)  and  Prior  (1664-1721).  Contemporaries 
of  Addison ;  the  first  a  brilliant  and  popular  dramatist,  the  second  a 
poet  and  satirist. 

2  17.  Theobald's.  In  Elizabeth's  time  the  residence  of  her  minister 
Cecil  (Lord  Burleigh). 

2  18.  Steenkirks.  At  the  battle  of  Steenkirk,  in  1692,  the  Erench 
army,  under  Luxemburg,  was  surprised  and  nearly  defeated  by  the 
English  and  allied  forces  under  William  III.  Many  of  the  French 
noblemen,  roused  from  their  sleep  by  the  sudden  attack,  hurried  to 
their  places  with  disordered  dress,  and  distinguished  themselves  by 
their   bravery  where  the   fight  was  hottest,  until  William  was  finally 


100  NOTES. 

beaten  back.  The  battle  gave  its  name  to  a  new  fashion  of  arranging 
with  studied  negligence  the  rich  lace  neckcloths  then  in  vogue,  in  imita- 
tion of  their  appearance  on  the  battlefield. 

Flowing  periwigs,  worn  by  all  men  of  fashion  at  this  time,  and  often 
very  expensive.  It  is  said  that  Steele,  who  lived  on  a  scale  of  impecu- 
nious extravagance,  could  never  take  the  air  without  a  wig  worth  fifty 
guineas. 

2  19.     Hampton.     A  royal  palace  on  the  Thames,  above  London. 

2  33.  Here  Macaulay  enters  upon  the  real  subject  of  his  essay,  for 
which  the  nominal  review  of  Miss  Aikin's  book  serves  only  as  an  excuse. 
Such  further  comment  upon  her  work  as  he  wished  to  make  appeared 
in  footnotes  in  the  Review,  and  was  omitted  altogether  from  the  sub- 
sequent republications. 

3  11.  Parnell,  Rev.  Thomas,  was  one  of  the  minor  poets  and 
critics  of  Queen  Anne's  reign.  He  contributed  somewhat  to  the 
Spectator,  and  was  on  intimate  terms  with  Pope  and  Swift. 

3  12.  Blair,  Rev.  Hugh,  D.D.,  for  many  years  Professor  of  Rhetoric 
and  Belles-lettres  at  Edinburgh  University.  He  was  a  friend  of  Samuel 
Johnson,  and  popular  in  his  own  day  as  an  essayist  and  sermon  writer. 

A  tragedy  not  very  much  better  than  Dr.  Johnson's.  Addison's 
Cato  was,  like  Samuel  Johnson's  Irejie,  declamatory,  undramatic,  and  in 
itself  uninteresting  ;  but  unlike  the  latter  tragedy,  which  was  practically 
a  failure,  Addison's  play  achieved  at  the  time  of  its  production  an 
extraordinary  success.  For  the  causes  of  this,  and  for  Macaulay's  criti- 
cism of  the  play  itself,  see  the  present  Essay,  pp.  67-70. 

3  22.     Button's,  a  coffee-house  patronized  by  Addison  and  his  friends. 

Public  coffee-houses  first  appeared  in  London  during  the  reign  of  Charles 
II.,  and  in  Queen  Anne's  time  were  an  important  element  in  the  life  of  the 
town.  They  were  frequented  as  places  for  social  intercourse  and  as  centers 
of  news  and  gossip.  Each  coffee-house  had  its  habitual  patrons,  drawn 
together  by  similarity  of  tastes  or  occupations.  At  one  would  be  found  the 
dandies  of  the  day,  at  another  the  wits  or  scholars;  here  the  clergymen, 
there  the  merchants  and  brokers.  In  this  way  they  became  virtually  clubs. 
Especially  was  this  true  when,  as  at  Button's,  the  reputation  of  the  place 
was  made  by  the  custom  of  some  literary  celebrity  or  coterie. 

4  15.  The  Episcopal  form  of  service  was  displaced  under  Cromwell 
by  the  Presbyterian,  and  its  public  use  was  forbidden. 

4  19.  Dunkirk,  on  the  Straits  of  Dover,  had  been  won  for  England 
by  Cromwell,  and  its  possession  was  considered  of  great  importance  for 
naval  defense  from  France.  Its  sale  by  Charles  IL,  who  was  always  in 
need  of  money,  roused  great  indignation  in  England. 


4  29.    Charles  II.  married  the  Portuguese  princess  Catharine  in  1662, 

5  5.  The  Convocation  (or  assembly  of  the  clergy)  of  1689  was 
summoned  by  King  William  to  consider  propositions  intended  to  bring 
the  dissenters  back  into  the  Established  Church.  Tillotson,  afterwards 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  was  the  leader  of  the  movement.  The  High 
Church  party  held  control,  and  the  propositions  were  defeated. 

5  11.  The  Charterhouse,  an  old  and  famous  London  school.  In 
Addison's  time  it  held  with  Westminster  the  first  place  among  the 
schools  of  England,  as  Rugby,  Eton,  and  Harrow  do  to-day. 

5  14-16.  Johnson  is  the  authority  for  the  barring  out;  see  his  Essay 
on  Addison.  The  second  tradition  is  related  in  Addisoniana,  a  collec- 
tion of  anecdotes  with  regard  to  Addison,  as  a  story  which  had  been 
handed  down  in  his  native  town. 

6  3.  James  II.,  in  his  effort  to  force  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  upon 
England,  struck  at  the  Universities  as  the  strongholds  and  nurseries  of 
the  Established  Church.  If  education  were  open  only  to  Catholics,  the 
supply  of  Protestant  clergymen  would  be  cut  off.  Accordingly  he 
attempted  to  force  the  fellows  of  Magdalen  College  to  elect  a  Roman 
Catholic,  Farmer,  as  their  President.  They  refused,  and  elected  instead 
Hough,  one  of  their  own  number.  A  commission  was  then  sent  to 
Oxford  by  the  King  to  enforce  compliance  with  the  royal  will,  as 
recounted  by  Macaulay  in  the  text. 

His  Chancellor,  Jeffreys.  He  had  received  the  office  as  a  reward  for 
his  work  in  the  Bloody  Assizes  (see  Gardiner's  Students'  History  oj 
England,  p.  637  ;  Green's  History  of  the  English  People,  Vol.  IV. 
p.  9).  The  Lord  High  Chancellor  was  originally  supposed  to  be  the 
confidential  adviser  of  the  King,  and  hence  is  sometimes  called  '  The 
keeper  of  the  King's  conscience.'  He  is  keeper  of  the  Great  Seal,  the 
presiding  officer  of  the  House  of  Lords,  a  member  of  the  cabinet,  and 
supreme  judge  of  the  Court  of  Chancery. 

6  7.  In  1688  James  ordered  the  English  clergy  to  read  before  their 
congregations  a  Declaration  of  Indulgence  to  Catholics.  The  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  and  six  bishops  signed  a  protest  against  this 
illegal  action,  and  for  this  were  brought  to  trial  by  the  King  (see  Green, 
IV.  23;  Gardiner,  p.  642). 

6  10.  The  fellows  of  each  college  at  Cambridge  and  Oxford  consti- 
tute, with  their  President,  the  governing  body  of  their  foundation  or 
college.  They  are  not  necessarily  resident,  and  may  hold  their  fellow- 
ships for  many  years.  Addison,  for  example,  was  elected  in  1698  to 
a  fellowship  which  he  continued  to  hold  until  1711,  though  he  left 
Oxford  in  1699. 


102  NOTES. 

6  28.  The  demies  as  well  as  the  fellow*  had  been  expelled  by  the 
Commission.  The  term  'demi'is  peculiar  to  Magdalen  College.  It 
denotes  a  holder  of  an  undergraduate  scholarship, 

7  20.  Buchanan,  George  (i  506-1 582),  a  great  scholar  and  historian, 
tutor  for  a  time  to  both  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  and  her  son  James  I  of 
England.     His  Latin  verses  are  of  great  excellence. 

7  30-34.  This  must  not  be  taken  too  literally.  The  accomplish- 
ments which  Macaulay  ascribes  to  the  ordinary  schoolboy  are  proverbial. 
Mr.  Courthope  says  :  "  His  [Addison's]  acquaintance  with  the  Greek 
poets,  if  cursory,  was  wide  and  intelligent  ;  he  was  sufficiently  master  of 
the  language  thoroughly  to  understand  the  spirit  of  what  he  read.  .  .  . 
The  Eton  or  Rugby  boy  who,  in  these  days,  with  a  normal  appetite  for 
cricket  and  football,  acquired  an  equal  knowledge  of  Greek  literature, 
would  certainly  be  somewhat-  of  a  prodigy  "  {Addisofi  in  English  Men 
of  Letters). 

8  23.  Addison  traveled  abroad  from  1699  to  1703,  and  spent  over  a 
year  in  Italy.  In  1705  he  published  his  Remai-ks  on  the  Several  Parts 
of  Italy. 

9  5.     Commentaries,  Letters  to  Atticus.     Who  are  the  authors  ? 

9  8.  Lucan  (38-65  a.d.),  the  author  of  the  epic  poem  F/iarsalia,  was 
one  of  the  chief  Roman  poets  of  the  '  silver  age '  in  Latin  literature. 

9  15.  The  Dialogues  upon  the  Usefulness  of  Aitcient  Medals  was 
begun  while  Addison  was  abroad,  but  first  appeared  in  print  after  his 
death,  in  the  edition  of  his  works  published  by  Tickell  in  1721. 

9  28.  The  Essay,  Of  the  Christiati  Religion,  occupied  Addison's 
attention  at  intervals  during  the  last  five  years  of  his  life,  but  was  left 
unfinished.     It  was  included  in  Tickell's  edition  just  referred  to. 

10  1.  The  Cock  Lane  ghost.  In  1772  a  house  in  Cock  Lane,  Stock- 
well,  near  London,  was  reported  to  be  haunted  by  a  ghost  which  pro- 
duced strange  rappings.  It  was  for  a  time  the  talk  of  London,  but  was 
found  at  last  to  be  a  hoax. 

10  2.  Ireland's  Vortigern.  William  Henry  Ireland  produced  in 
1795,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  a  series  of  documents  relating  to  Shakes- 
peare which  he  pretended  to  have  discovered,  —  private  letters,  the- 
atrical memoranda,  annotated  books,  and  at  last  a  complete  play, 
Vortigern,  which  was  actually  purchased  by  Sheridan  and  acted  at  the 
Drury  Lane  Theater.  Many  eminent  men  of  letters  were  at  first  imposed 
upon,  but  the  play  failed  on  its  first  performance,  and  Ireland  was  forced 
to  confess  the  forgeries. 

The  Thundering  Legion.  There  is  a  tradition  that  in  the  army  of 
Marcus  Aurelius  was  a  legion  composed  entirely  of  Christians,  and  that 


NOTES.  103 

once,  when  shut  in  a  defile  by  the  Marcomanni,  a  violent  thunderstorm 
arose  in  answer  to  their  prayers,  under  cover  of  which  they  attacked 
and  defeated  their  enemies. 

10  5.  According  to  the  tradition,  Abgarus,  toparch  of  Edessa,  was 
sick  of  an  incurable  disease.  Hearing  of  Christ's  miraculous  cures,  he 
wrote  professing  belief,  and  asking  the  Saviour  to  come  and  heal  him. 
Jesus,  with  his  own  hand,  wrote  in  reply  that  when  he  had  done  the 
command  of  his  Father  he  must  return  to  Him,  but  he  would  send  one 
of  his  disciples,  Thaddeus,  to  heal  Abgarus's  disease  and  show  him  the 
way  of  life. 

10  16.  Boyle,  Charles  (1676-1731),  afterwards  third  Earl  of  Orrery, 
put  forth  in  1695,  while  an  undergraduate  at  Oxford,  an  edition  of  the 
Epistles  of  Phalaris,  which  were  then  supposed  to  date  from  the  sixth 
century  B.C.  He  was  largely  assisted  in  his  work  by  Atterbury  and 
other  Oxford  colleagues.  The  unscholarly  character  of  the  book  was 
exposed  by  Dr.  Richard  Bentley  (1662-1742),  the  foremost  English 
scholar  of  his  time,  who  published,  two  years  later,  his  famous  Disser- 
tation on  the  Epistles  of  Fhalaris^  proving  that  the  Epistles  were  forgeries 
of  the  second  century  a.d.  The  controversy  attracted  wide  attention, 
and  called  forth  Swift's  Battle  of  the  Books. 

10  17.  Blackmore,  Sir  Richard  {d.  1729),  court  physician  to  King 
William,  and  a  very  voluminous  writer,  both  in  prose  and  poetry.  He 
was  the  author,  among  other  things,  of  six  ponderous  epics,  many  medi- 
cal treatises,  two  volumes  of  essays,  and  a  periodical  patterned  after  the 
Spectator.  Addison  praised  his  Creation  in  the  latter  periodical ;  but 
he  was  unsparingly  ridiculed  by  most  of  the  literary  men  of  his  time, 
until  his  name  became  a  synonym  for  dullness. 

10  25.  The  important  place  assigned,  in  the  English  schools,  to  the 
writing  of  Latin  verse  accounts  for  the  fact  that  a  false  quantity  is,  in 
that  country,  regarded  almost  as  a  disgrace  and  the  mark  of  an  insuffi- 
cient education.  Two  generations  ago,  when  Latin  quotations  were 
more  commonly  introduced  into  parliamentary  speeches  than  now,  the 
mispronunciation  of  a  Latin  word  would  make  the  unlucky  blunderer 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  House  of  Commons. 

10  31.     See  note  on  10  16. 

11  8.     See  same  note. 

11  15.  Thousands  of  breakfast-tables.  Addison's  daily  paper,  the 
Spectator,  was  a  popular  accompaniment  of  breakfast  among  fashionable 
Londoners. 

12  1.  Drury  Lane,  through  most  of  the  seventeenth  century  an 
aristocratic  residence  street,  was  in  Addison's  time  given  up  to  that  life 


104  NOTES. 

of  the  town  which  centered  in  the  Queen  Anne  coffee-houses  and 
theaters.  The  Royal,  or  Urury  Lane  Theater,  was  (and  is)  at  the  corner 
of  Drury  Lane  and  Russell  Street,  on  which  were  both  Button's  and 
Will's,  and  was,  on  the  whole,  the  leading  theater  of  the  time. 

12  10.     Congreve.     See  note  on  2  16. 

12  11.  Charles  Montagu  (1661-1715),  who  became  Lord  Halifax  in 
1699,  was  a  statesman  of  extraordinary  ability,  particularly  as  a  financier. 
The  national  debt  and  the  Bank  of  England  both  date  from  his  time, 
and  it  was  due  to  his  success  in  founding  the  latter  that  he  was  made 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  in  1694.  His  subsequent  fall  from  power 
and  impeachment  are  mentioned  by  Macaulay  on  p.  29. 

The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  is  a  cabinet  officer,  one  of  whose 
duties  is  to  present  to  parliament  the  statement  of  taxation  proposed  for 
the  ensuing  year.  In  this  respect  his  position  is  similar  to  that  of  our 
Chairman  of  the  Ways  and  Means  Committee.  He  must  not  be  con- 
fused with  the  Lord  Chancellor,  with  regard  to  whom  see  note  on  6  3. 

12  20,  21.  Newdigate  prize,  Seatonian  prize.  These  are  prizes  for 
English  verse,  offered  annually  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge  respectively. 

Heroic  couplet.     Define  this  verse-measure. 

In  this  passage  Macaulay  does  scant  justice  to  the  real  virtues  of  the  dis- 
tinct variety  of  rimed  couplet  which  Pope  perfected  ;  and  he  seems  not  to  rec- 
ognize the  existence  of  any  other  variety  at  all.  Pope,  with  his  genius  for 
saying  things  cleverly,  with  his  keen  wit  and  sparkling  fancy  and  rhetorical 
power,  developed  a  corresponding  poetic  style — balanced,  emphatic,  polished, 
and  pointed.  The  decasyllabic  couplet  of  Chaucer  or  Keats,  on  the  other 
hand,  simpler,  more  varied,  and  more  flowing,  is  an  altogether  different  verse- 
form  —  far  more  suitable  for  straightforward  narrative  and  for  delicate  poetic 
feeling,  though  it  would  not  have  served  Pope's  purpose  at  all.  Compare 
with  one  another  and  with  the  passages  in  the  text  the  three  following  pas- 
sages, noting  carefully  the  differences  in  content,  style,  and  versification,  and 
the  illustrations  of  what  has  just  been  said :  — 

O  mercy,  deare  father,  quod  this  maid. 
And  with  that  word  she  both  her  amies  laid 
About  his  neck,  as  she  was  wont  to  do. 
(The  teares  brast  out  of  her  eyen  two,) 
And  said,  O  goode  father,  shall  1  die  ? 
Is  there  no  grace  ?  is  there  no  remedy .? 

Chaucer,  The  Doctor''s  Tale  (Appius  and  Virginia). 

This  day,  black  omens  threat  the  brightest  fair 
That  e'er  deserved  a  watchful  spirit's  care  ; 
Some  dire  disaster,  or  by  force,  or  slight ; 
But  what,  or  where,  the  fates  have  wrapt  in  night. 


NOTES.  105 

Whether  the  nympli  sliall  break  Diana's  law, 
Or  some  frail  china  jar  receive  a  flaw  ; 
Or  stain  her  honor  or  her  new  brocade ; 
Forget  her  prayers,  or  miss  a  masquerade. 

Pope,  Rape  of  the  Lock. 

Sometimes  goldfinches  one  by  one  will  drop 
From  low-hung  branches  ;  little  space  they  stop, 
But  sip,  and  twitter,  and  their  feathers  sleek ; 
Then  off  at  once,  as  in  a  wanton  freak ; 
Or  perhaps,  to  show  their  black  and  golden  wings, 
Pausing  upon  their  yellow  flutterings. 

Keats,  '/  stood  tiptoe  upon  a  little  hill.'' 

13  10.  Hoole,  John  (1727-1803),  translated  from  the  Italian  into 
English  heroic  couplets  Tasso's  Gerusalemme  Liberata  and  Ariosto's 
Orlando  Fiirioso. 

13  14-16.  This  refers  to  an  invention  of  the  distinguished  civil 
engineer  and  architect.  Sir  Marc  Isambard  Brunei  (1769-1849),  which 
substituted  machinery  for  hand  labor  in  the  manufacture  of  ships' blocks. 
It  w^as  employed  in  the  government  dockyards,  at  an  immense  economy 
of  labor  and  money. 

14  14,  15.  Duke,  Stepney,  Granville,  Walsh,  minor  English  poets  a 
few  years  older  than  Addison. 

14  23.  Addison  furnished  also  arguments  to  most  of  the  books  of  the 
^neid.  His  authorship  of  both  these  and  the  preface  was  unknown  at 
the  time. 

14  27.  Dryden's  skill  in  compliment  was  unrivaled  in  an  age  of 
adulation. 

15  9.  Notice  the  sudden  change  in  subject  in  the  midst  of  the  para- 
graph. We  hear  no  more  about  Addison  and  his  calling  until  the 
second  paragraph  following. 

15  17.     In  Samuel  Johnson's  Rasselas. 

16  4.     Lord  Chancellor.     See  note  on  6  3. 

Somers,  John  (1652-17 16)  had  taken  a  leading  part  in  bringing 
William  III.  to  the  throne.  He  became  William's  most  trusted  adviser, 
and  rose,  through  successive  steps  of  legal  preferment,  to  the  high  office 
of  Lord  Chancellor,  which  he  reached  in  1697.  As  a  parliamentary 
orator  he  held  with  Montagu  the  foremost  place. 

17  12.  The  peace  of  Ryswick,  concluded  in  1697,  marked  only  a 
temporary  pause  in  the  struggle  of  the  English  and  Dutch  and  their 
allies  against  the  ambitious  plans  of  Louis  XIV.  The  latter  had 
hitherto  supported  the  claims  of  James  II.  to  the  English  throne  ;  he 


106  NOTES. 

now  recognized  William  as  king,  and  Anne  as  his  successor.  But  when, 
in  1700,  he  accepted  the  crown  of  Spain  for  his  grandson,  in  defiance 
of  his  agreement  on  that  point  made  with  Great  Britain  and  Holland, 
he  again  took  up  the  cause  of  the  Stuarts,  and,  on  the  death  of  James 
II.  in  the  following  year,  recognized  the  Pretender  as  king  of  England. 

18  6.  Made  a  rich  man  by  his  pension.  It  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  money  was  worth,  roughly  speaking,  three  times  as  much  then  as 
now\ 

18  17.  Addison  was  elected  a  member  of  the  celebrated  Kit-Cat  Club 
soon  after  his  return  to  England  in  1703.  Montagu  (by  that  time  Lord 
Halifax)  and  Somers  were  members  of  the  club,  which  included  all  the 
great  leaders  of  the  Whig  party  and  their  most  valuable  literary  allies. 
It  was  professedly  a  club  of  wits,  but  exerted  an  important  influence  in 
politics.  It  was  said  to  have  taken  its  name  from  one  Christopher 
Cat,  famous  for  his  delectable  mutton  pies. 

One  of  the  rules  of  the  club  was  that  each  member  should,  on  his 
admission,  name  some  lady  as  his  '  toast,'  and  write  some  verses  in  her 
praise.  Addison's  lines,  engraved  on  his  toasting  glass,  were  as  follows  : — 

While  haughty  Gallia's  dames,  that  spread 
O'er  their  pale  cheeks  an  artful  red, 
Beheld  this  beauteous  stranger  there. 
In  native  charms  divinely  fair  ; 
Confusion  in  their  looks  they  showed. 
And  with  unborrowed  blushes  glowed. 

The  same  causes  which  gave  their  popularity  to  coffee-houses,  already 
remarked  upon,  under  Queen  Anne,  promoted  the  growth  of  clubs.  Politics 
and  the  life  of  the  town  almost  monopolized  the  attention  of  all  men  of 
social  station.  The  coffee-house  furnished  the  nucleus ;  only  a  permanent 
organization  was  needed  to  transform  its  habitual  frequenters  into  a  full- 
fledged  club.  Accordingly  we  find  clubs  of  every  kind,  some  of  which 
Addison  satirized  in  the  Spectator^  No.  9. 

18  26.  Racine,  Jean  (i 639-1 699),  one  of  the  greatest  of  French 
dramatic  poets.  The  '  sacred  dramas '  to  which  Macaulay  alludes 
{Esther  and  Aihalie)  were  written  about  1690. 

18  28.  Dacier  (1651-1722),  a  distinguished  French  scholar,  an- 
nounced to  Louis  in  1685  his  conversion  to  Catholicism,  and  was  re- 
warded with  a  pension.  It  is  illustrative  of  the  veneration  for  the  classics 
which  then  obtained,  that  the  new  convert  should  have  sought  in  the 
writings  of  Plato  for  confirmation  of  the  doctrines  contained  in  the 
Athanasian  creed,  which,  as  a  Catholic,  he  was  bound  to  accept  as 
authoritative. 


NOTES.  107 

19  8.  Joseph  Spence  ( 1 699-1 76S),  an  English  clergyman,  scholar, 
and  critic,  whose  Anecdotes  are  full  of  information  concerning  the  liter- 
ary men  of  his  time. 

19  17.  Guardian,  a  daily  paper  published  by  Steele  in  17 13  after  the 
discontinuance  of  the  Spectator,  Addison  ^Yas  a  frequent  contributor 
to  it. 

19  24.     Bishop  Hough.     See  note  on  6  3. 

19  25,26.  Malebranche  (1638-1715)  and  Boileau  (1636-1711), 
eminent,  the  first  as  a  philosopher,  the  second  as  a  man  of  letters. 

19  28.  Hobbes,  Thomas  (i 588-1679),  a  distinguished  English  politi- 
cal philosopher,  whose  most  famous  work,  the  Leviathan,  argued  foi 
absolutism  as  the  necessary  basis  of  society. 

20  1.  The  French  Academy,  originally  a  private  society,  was  in  1635 
converted  by  Richelieu  into  a  government  organization,  composed  of 
eminent  scholars  and  writers,  and  charged  with  the  function  of  protect- 
ing the  purity  of  the  language  and  pronouncing  judgment  on  questions 
of  literary  criticism. 

20  11.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  (1723-1792),  the  most  famous  of  English 
portrait  painters.  He  was  one  of  the  foremost  figures  in  the  society  of 
his  time,  and  a  member  of  the  celebrated  Literary  Club,  which  included 
among  its  members  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  Garrick,  and  Burke. 

Mrs.  Thrale,  the  wife  of  a  wealthy  London  brewer.  Her  tastes  were 
literary,  and  she  was  ambitious  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  literary 
people.  After  meeting  Dr.  Johnson,  then  recognized  as  the  foremosi 
conversationalist  and  man  of  letters  of  his  time,  she  asked  him  to  hei 
house  at  Streatham,  in  the  suburbs  of  London,  where  she  and  her  hus 
band  made  him  so  comfortable  that  it  soon  became  almost  his  home. 

20  15.     Absalom  and  Achitophel.     Who  is  the  author  of  this  poem  .-• 

21  24,  25.  Erasmus  (i 466-1 536),  the  great  Dutch  scholar  w^ho  for  a 
time  held  the  chair  of  Greek  at  Cambridge,  England,  and  Fracastorius 
(1483-1533),  a  learned  Italian  physician  and  poet,  both  wrote  mainly  in 
Latin. 

21  25.  Robertson,  Dr.  William  (i 721-1793),  a  Scotch  minister,  who 
published,  in  1759,  a  history  of  Scotland,  and  at  once  took  rank  as  a 
leading  historian.  The  full  title  of  his  last  work  is,  A  Disquisition 
Concerfiing  the  K^iowledge  which  the  Ancients  had  of  India. 

21  31.  Gray,  Thomas  (1716-1771),  author  of  what  famous  English 
poem  ?    He  published  Latin  verses  while  an  undergraduate  at  Cambridge. 

21  32.  Vincent  Bourne  (169 5-1 747)  was  for  many  years  a  master  at 
Westminster  School.  His  only  publication  was  a  small  volume  of 
very  graceful  Latin  poems. 


108  NOTES. 

22  1-5.  Ne  croyez,  etc.  "  But  do  not  think  from  this  that  I  wish  to 
find  fault  with  the  Latin  verses  of  one  of  your  distinguished  academicians 
which  you  sent  me.  I  found  them  very  beautiful,  and  worthy  of  Vida 
and  Sannazaro,  but  not  of  Horace  and  Virgil." 

Vida  (i48o(.^)-i566)  and  Sannazaro  (1458-1530)  were  two  Italians 
who  wrote  Latin  poetry,  —  the  former  De  Arte  Poetica,  patterned  after 
Horace's  Ars  Poetica,  the  latter  an  epic,  De  Partu  Virginis,  which  won 
him  the  name  of  the  "  Christian  Virgil." 

23  11.  See  note  on  17  12.  This  bequest  of  the  Spanish  throne  to  a 
French  prince  marks  the  beginning  of  the  War  of  the  Spanish  Suc- 
cession, in  which  the  English,  Dutch,  Austrians,  and  a  part  of  the 
German  states  were  leagued  against  France  and  Spain.  With  the 
power  of  these  two  countries  in  the  hands  of  one  family,  perhaps  of  one 
sovereign,  no  state  in  Europe  was  strong  enough  to  defend  itself. 
"  There  are  no  longer  any  Pyrenees,"  Louis  had  said  to  his  grandson 
setting  out  for  Spain.  It  was  to  restore  the  Pyrenees  that  the  war  was 
undertaken. 

24  17.  Book  of  Gold.  In  1528,  under  the  leadership  of  x\ndrea 
Doria,  Genoa  threw  off  the  French  yoke  and  became  an  independent 
republic.  A  list  of  her  most  important  citizens  was  then  made  out,  and 
these  were  called  the  Nobles  of  the  Golden  Book.  This  book  was 
burned  in  a  popular  outbreak  in  1797. 

24  22.  House  of  Doria.  "  There  is  one  room  in  the  first  {i.e.  the 
Duke  of  Doria's  Palace)  that  is  hung  with  tapestry,  in  which  are 
wrought  the  figures  of  the  great  persons  that  the  family  has  produced  ; 
as  perhaps  there  is  no  family  in  Europe  that  can  show  a  longer  line  of 
heroes  that  have  still  acted  for  the  good  of  their  country."  (Addison's 
Remarks  on  Italy.) 

24  24.  Mediaeval  architecture  was  not  highly  appreciated  in  Addi- 
son's time.  The  very  use  of  the  word  '  Gothic  '  implied  disparagement ; 
it  signified  something  irregular  and  barbaric.  Classic  symmetry  and 
severity  formed  the  ideal  of  architecture,  and  a  profusion  of  ornament 
was  sure  to  be  censured  as  in  bad  taste. 

25  11.  The  evidence  regarding  the  time  when  Addison  began  Cato 
is  at  first  sight  conflicting.  Colley  Cibber  says  that  he  read  the  first 
four  acts  of  the  play  in  1703,  and  that  Steele  at  that  time  said  it  had 
been  "the  amusement  of  Addison's  leisure  hours  in  Italy."  Tonson 
also  says  that  the  first  four  acts  were  written  abroad.  On  the  other 
hand,  Tickell,  in  the  preface  to  his  edition  of  Addison's  works,  says  : 
"  He  took  up  a  design  of  writing  upon  this  subject  when  he  was  at  the 
University,  and  even   attempted  something  in  it  there,  though  not  a 


NOTES.  109 

line  as  it  now  stands."  Dr.  Young  even  says  that  Addison  at  that 
time  sent  his  play  of  Cato  to  Dryden  for  criticism,  and  that  the  latter 
returned  it  with  the  opinion  that  it  would  not  succeed  on  the  stage. 
But  these  accounts  are  after  all  not  at  all  irreconcilable.  Tickell  was 
certainly  in  a  position  to  know  what  he  was  talking  about.  He  had 
been  for  a  number  of  years  one  of  Addison's  nearest  friends,  and  was 
his  literary  executor.  We  must  reject  his  testimony  in  toto  to  believe 
with  Macaulay  that  the  Venetian  opera  "  suggested  to  him  [Addison] 
the  thought  of  bringing  Cato  on  the  English  stage."  On  the  other 
hand,  with  the  subject  already  in  mind  Addison  would  naturally  find 
such  a  performance  as  he  describes  full  of  hints,  and,  writing  with 
maturer  powers,  the  resulting  production  might  easily  have  little  more 
than  the  title  in  common  with  his  academic  tragedy,  so  that  his  friends 
would  be  quite  right  in  speaking  of  the  first  four  acts  of  Cato  as 
written  in  Italy. 

26  19.  Paestum.  A  city  in  Lucania,  about  forty  miles  south  from 
Naples,  originally  settled  by  Greek  colonists,  and  famous  for  a  wonder- 
ful group  of  three  Doric  temples,  one  of  them  the  most  complete  Greek 
temple  now  existing. 

26  24.  Salvator.  Salvator  Rosa  (i6i 5-1673),  a  Neapolitan  whose 
romantic  feeling  and  use  of  landscape  mark  a  turning-point  in  the 
history  of  art. 

26  25.  Vico  (1668-1744),  another  son  of  Naples,  who  led  the  way 
toward  a  sound  philosophy  of  history,  and  modern  methods  and  results 
in  the  science  of  society.  When  Addison  was  in  Italy  Vico  was  Pro- 
fessor of  Rhetoric  in  the  University  of  Naples. 

26  26.  In  Yucatan  are  crumbling  ruins  which  were  formerly  sup- 
posed to  be  the  remains  of  a  prehistoric  civilization,  but  which  are  now 
known  to  be  the  sites  of  huge  communal  villages  of  Indians,  similar  to 
the  cities  found  in  Mexico  by  the  Spaniards,  and  to  the  Pueblo  towns  of 
New  Mexico.     (See  Fiske's  Discovery  of  America,  Vol.  I.  pp.  134-137.) 

26  34.  Philip  the  Fifth,  the  grandson  of  Louis  XIV.  of  France,  the 
circumstances  of  whose  accession  to  the  throne  of  France  were  narrated 
on  p.  23. 

27  3.  The  Italian  dependencies  of  the  Spanish  crown.  These 
were  the  Duchy  of  Milan  and  the  Kingdoms  of  Sardinia  and  the  Two 
Sicilies.  The  latter  included  the  southern  part  of  the  Italian  peninsula 
as  well  as  the  island  of  Sicily. 

27  15.     See  Virgil's  y^neid,  VI.  233. 

27  17.    Fabled  promontory  of  Circe.     See  ALneid,  VII.  10. 

27  26.     In  the  same  ode  alluded  to  on  24  11. 


110  NOTES. 

27  34.  Forgot  his  prejudices.  Not  quite.  Addison's  comment  is 
extremely  significant.  "  There  is  nothing  in  this  city  so  extraordinary 
as  the  cathedral,  which  a  man  may  view  with  pleasure  after  he  has  seen 
St.  Peter's,  though  it  is  quite  of  another  make,  and  can  only  be  looked 
upon  as  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  Gothic  architecture.  When  a  man 
sees  the  prodigious  pains  and  expense  that  our  forefathers  have  been  at 
in  these  barbarous  buildings,  one  cajinot  but  fancy  to  hijJiself  what  miracles 
of  architecture  they  would  have  left  us  had  they  been  ojily  instructed  in 
the  right  way.  .  .  .  One  would  wonder  to  see  the  vast  labor  that  has 
been  laid  out  on  this  single  cathedral.  The  very  spouts  are  loaden  with 
ornaments  ;  the  windows  are  formed  like  so  many  scenes  of  perspective, 
with  a  multitude  of  little  pillars  retiring  one  behind  another  ;  the  great 
columns  are  finely  engraven  wdth  fruits  and  foliage  ;  .  .  .  and  the  front 
covered  with  such  a  variety  of  figures,  and  overrun  with  so  many  little 
mazes  and  labyrinths  of  sculpture,  that  nothing  in  the  world  can  make 
a  prettier  show  to  those  zu  ho  prefer  false  beauties  and  affected  ornaments  to 
a  noble  and  majestic  simplicity.^''     {Remarks  07i  Italy.) 

28  19-26.  These  were  the  opening  movements  of  the  War  of  the 
Spanish  Succession.  Prince  Eugene  was  commander  of  the  Austrian 
army  ;  Catinat,  of  the  French  army  in  northern  Italy.  The  Duke  of 
Savoy  at  first  sided  with  Louis,  but  went  over  to  the  allies  in  1703.  The 
appointment  of  the  Earl  of  Manchester  as  Ambassador  to  France  was 
mentioned  on  p.  18. 

29  15.     Parnell.     See  note  on  3  ll. 
Prior.     See  note  on  2  16. 

29  20.  Impeached  by  the  House  of  Commons.  William  had  tried 
to  prevent  the  War  of  the  Spanish  Succession  by  making  a  secret  treaty 
with  France,  stipulating  that  on  the  death  of  Charles  II.,  King  of  Spain, 
that  country  should  be  divided  among  the  rival  claimants.  The  treaty, 
when  it  became  known  in  England,  proved  very  unpopular,  and  resulted 
in  the  impeachment  of  the  Whig  ministers  in  1701. 

30  3.    Death  of  William  the  Third.     In  March,  1702 . 

30  7.  Deprived  of  the  seals,  i.e.  his  resignation  was  demanded. 
There  are  now  in  the  English  cabinet  five  Secretaries  of  State,  but  at 
Queen  Anne's  accession  only  two.  The  seals  constituted  their  emblem 
of  office.  Two  other  cabinet  officers  are  custodians  of  seals,  the  Lord 
Chancellor  of  the  Great  Seal  and  the  Lord  Privy  Seal  of  the  Privy  Seal. 

30  9.  The  Privy  Council.  Most  of  the  duties  formerly  attaching  to 
this  body  have  now  been  assumed  by  the  cabinet,  and  the  rest  are 
mainly  discharged  by  two  or  three  important  standing  committees,  so 
that  the  Privy  Council  does  not  now  assemble  except  for  routine  and 


NOTES.  Ill 

purely  formal  business.  The  Council  was  originally  a  body  of  represent- 
ative men  selected  by  the  sovereign  to  act  as  advisers  of  the  crown  in 
all  important  affairs  of  state,  and  the  monarch  could  not  constitutionally 
act  unless  so  advised.  It  was  an  extraordinary  act  of  royal  disfavor  to 
exclude  from  the  Council  Somers  and  Halifax,  who  by  virtue  of  their 
position  as  leaders  of  the  dominant  party  in  the  preceding  Parliament 
were  entitled  to  sit  in  it. 

30  13.  He  became  tutor,  etc.  This  statement,  the  authority  for 
which  is  a  sarcastic  fling  of  Swift's,  is  probably  incorrect.  A  little 
later,  after  the  death  of  Addison's  father,  he  was  in  correspondence  with 
the  Duke  of  Somerset  with  reference  to  becoming  tutor  to  his  son  ; 
but  the  remuneration  offered  was  not  satisfactory,  and  the  plan  fell 
through. 

30  23.  The  eight  northern  provinces  of  the  Netherlands  threw  off 
the  Spanish  yoke  and  in  1579  proclaimed  the  "Union  of  Utrecht," 
thus  forming  the  United  Provinces,  now  the  Kingdom  of  Holland. 
The  southern  provinces,  comprising  what  is  now  Belgium,  were  still 
held  by  Spain  as  the  Spanish  Netherlands. 

31  4.  The  prerogative,  the  rights  of  the  crown  as  against  those 
of  Parliament. 

The  Church,  the  Established  (Episcopal)  Church. 

These  were  the  two  main  issues  in  English  politics  at  the  time.  The 
Whigs  opposed  the  doctrine  of  divine  right  and  wished  to  limit  the  power  of 
the  sovereign  ;  and  as  the  dissenters  were  mainly  Whigs,  the  party  naturally 
favored  religious  toleration.  The  Tories,  on  the  other  hand,  were  called 
indifferently  the  Church  party  or  the  country  party,  since  their  party  was 
loyally  and  unwaveringly  supported  by  the  clergy  and  the  country  gentlemen. 
As  the  latter  derived  their  incomes  from  the  rents  of  their  land,  the  Tories 
favored  a  system  of  taxation  which  should  relieve  land  of  the  burden  and 
lay  it  as  far  as  possible  upon  trade,  which  centered  in  the  cities  and  was 
favored  by  the  Whigs.  Further,  since  the  scruples  of  the  Tories  against 
any  attack  on  the  power  of  the  throne  had  made  it  difficult  for  them  to  sup- 
port WiUiam  against  James  II.  and  since  the  Tories  were  an  intensely 
English  party,  hated  all  foreigners,  and  wished  to  have  as  little  as  possible 
to  do  with  foreign  alliances  and  European  wars,  it  was  not  strange  that 
WilUam's  war  policy  had  to  look  for  its  champions  to  the  Whigs,  and  that 
the  Tories  fiercely  opposed  it. 

31  6,  7.  Godolphin,  Marlborough.  These  were  the  two  leaders  and 
directors  of  English  politics  from  the  accession  of  Anne  to  the  overturn 
of  parties  in  the  elections  of  1710.  The  Earl  of  Godolphin  (i635(?)- 
17 1 2)  was  a  skillful  financier  and  a  cautious  and  conservative  politician, 


112  NOTES. 

and  as  Lord  High  Treasurer  and  practically  Prime  Minister  managed 
affairs  at  home  and  raised  the  funds  for  the  military  operations  cf 
Marlborough  on  the  Continent.  John  Churchill,  Duke  of  Marlborough 
(i65o(?)-i722),  was  one  of  the  great  captains  of  the  world.  Under  his 
leadership  the  splendid  armies  and  experienced  generals  of  the  French 
were  again  and  again  defeated,  their  country  devastated,  and  the 
empire  of  the  proud  old  Louis  brought  to  the  verge  of  dismemberment. 
Marlborough's  character  was,  however,  stained  by  avarice  and  treachery. 
He  was  greatly  assisted  by  his  wife,  who  possessed  unbounded  influence 
over  Anne. 

31  13.  Funded  debt.  The  national  debt  began  under  King 
William.  It  was  a  Whig  measure,  and  was  bitterly  opposed  by  the 
Tories,  since  it  gave  the  Whig  capitalists  a  chance  for  a  good  invest- 
ment, while  the  country  had  to  meet  the  interest  charge. 

32  2.  This  comparison  for  the  sake  of  clearness  has  become  inef- 
fective with  the  lapse  of  time ;  it  is  now  necessary  to  explain  the 
explanation.  In  1826  important  measures  of  reform  were  before  the 
country.  The  Tory  party  was  in  power,  but  on  the  question  of  the  need 
of  reform  Tory  opinion  was  hopelessly  divided.  Canning  and  Lord 
Eldon,  both  members  of  the  cabinet,  represent  the  opposing  wings, 
the  first  a  moderate  reformer,  the  second  an  intense  anti-reformer 
The  Whigs  stood  ready  to  assist  Canning,  and  after  he  became  Prime 
Minister  in  the  following  year  some  of  them  entered  his  cabinet. 

32  17.  Blenheim,  in  Bavaria,  the  scene  of  one  of  Marlborough's 
greatest  victories,  won  in  1704.  He  had  marched  400  miles  from  his 
base  of  operations  in  Holland,  to  crush  a  French  army  which  was  mov- 
ing against  the  Austrians.  The  battle  changed  the  entire  European 
situation,  and  threw  France  on  the  defensive. 

32  22.  The  Imperial  throne,  occupied  by  Leopold,  Archduke  of 
Austria. 

32  23.  The  Act  of  Settlement.  This  act  of  Parliament  decreed 
that  on  the  death  of  Anne  without  issue  the  crown  should  pass  to  the 
House  of  Hanover.  This  was,  of  course,  an  exclusion  of  the  Stuarts, 
whom  Louis  had  recognized  as  the  heirs  (see  note  on  17  12),  and  whom 
the  French,  if  victorious,  would  probably  attempt  to  restore. 

32  32.     Newmarket,  the  great  English  race-course. 

33  16  ff.  This  anecdote  is  on  the  authority  of  Budgell,  in  his  Life 
of  Lord  Orrery,  and  is,  as  Leslie  Stephen  remarks,  "reported  with 
suspicious  fullness." 

34  16.  The  similitude  of  the  angel.  This  is  the  best  passage  in 
the  poem,  and  the  one  oftenest  quoted.     It  is  as  follows  :  — 


NOTES.  113 

So  when  an  angel  by  divine  command 
With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land, 
Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  passed, 
Calm  and  serene  he  drives  the  furious  blast ; 
And,  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform. 
Rides  in  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the  storm. 

34  17.  Commissionership.  He  was  made  Commissioner  of  Appeals 
in  the  Excise,  succeeding  the  philosopher  Locke  in  the  office. 

35  28.  Lifeguardsman.  The  Lifeguards  are  the  two  senior  regi- 
ments of  the  sovereign's  mounted  bodyguard,  and  are  all  at  least  six 
feet  tall. 

35  31.  Mamelukes,  originally  slaves  purchased  by  the  Sultan  of 
Egypt  and  made  into  an  army.  They  soon  discovered  their  power,  and 
in  1254  made  one  of  their  number  Sultan.  They  were  masters  of 
Egypt  until  its  conquest  by  the  Turks  in  1517,  and  remained  a  power- 
ful military  aristocracy  until  their  perfidious  massacre  in  the  citadel  of 
Cairo  in  181 1.  At  the  time  of  Napoleon's  invasion  of  Egypt  in  1797 
the  Mamelukes  attacked  him  in  the  battle  of  the  Pyramids,  under  the 
leadership  of  Mourad  Bey,  and  were  severely  beaten. 

36  24.  The  Boyne,  the  river  in  Ireland  which  gave  its  name  to  the 
decisive  victory  gained  upon  its  banks  by  William  IIL  in  1690,  when  he 
defeated  James  II.  and  the  French  and  Irish  troops  supporting  him,  and 
secured  his  own  claim  to  the  ^English  throne.- 

36  25.  John  Philips  (1676-1709),  one  of  the  minor  poets  of  the 
time.  His  poem  on  Blenheim  was  written  after  Addison's,  and  was 
produced  by  request  of  some  of  the  Tory  leaders  as  a  kind  of  counter- 
blast to  the  Campaign.  Notice  his  use  of  blank  verse  and  imitation  of 
Milton's  style. 

37  18.  Johnson,  in  his  Life  of  Addison,  had  contended  that  the  com- 
parison was  not  a  true  simile  at  all,  and  that  it  was  too  obvious  to 
deserve  much  praise.  "  Marlborough  is  so  like  the  angel  in  the  poem 
that  the  action  of  both  is  almost  the  same,  and  performed  by  both  in 
the  same  manner.  Marlborough  '  teaches  the  battle  to  rage  ' ;  the  angel 
'  directs  the  storm  ' :  Marlborough  is  '  unmoved  in  peaceful  thought ' ; 
the  angel  is  '  calm  and  serene '  :  Marlborough  stands  '  unmoved  amidst 
the  shock  of  hosts ' ;  the  angel  rides  '  calm  in  the  whirlwind.'  The  lines 
on  Marlborough  are  just  and  noble;  but  the  simile  gives  almost  the 
same  images  a  second  time." 

Though  Macaulay  would  not  "dispute  the  general  justice  of  Johnson's 
remarks,"  Mr.  Courthope  has  not  hesitated  to  do  so.  He  defends  Addison 
as  follows :  "  It  was  Addison's  intention  to  raise  in  the  mind  of  the  reader 


114  NOTES. 

the  noblest  possible  idea  of  composure  and  design  in  trie  midst  of  confusion  ; 
to  do  this  he  selected  an  angel  as  the  minister  of  the  divine  purpose,  and  a 
storm  as  the  symbol  of  fury  and  devestation.  .  .  .  Johnson  has  noticed  the 
close  similarity  between  the  persons  of  Marlborough  and  the  angel ;  but  he 
has  exaggerated  the  resemblance  between  the  actions  in  which  they  are  sever- 
ally engaged."     (Courthope's  Addison  in  English  Men  of  Letters.) 

38  14.  Victor  Amadeus,  the  Duke  of  Savoy  mentioned  on  28  22,  and 
note. 

38  20.  Empress  Faustina  {d.  a.d.  175),  wife  of  the  Roman  Emperor, 
Marcus  Aurelius.     Her  life  was  scandalously  immoral. 

39  12.  Santa  Croce,  the  church  at  Florence  in  which  are  buried, 
among  other  famous  Florentines,  Dante,  Michelangelo,  Machiavelli, 
and  Galileo. 

39  14.  An  allusion  to  the  celebrated  passage  in  Dante's  Inferno, 
Canto  V.  The  affecting  story  of  the  lovers,  Paolo  and  Francesca,  is 
also  the  theme  of  Leigh  Hunt's  poem,  Rimini. 

39  19.  This  is  exaggerated  praise.  Filicaja's  poetry  is  unequal,  and 
is  often  vitiated  by  an  artificial  style.     He  lived  1 642-1 707. 

40  2.  Rowe,  Nicholas  (1674-17 18),  one  of  the  not  inconsiderable 
number  of  English  Poet  Laureates  whose  laurel  has  withered  sadly  with 
time.     His  best  work  was  as  a  dramatic  writer. 

40  18.  Great  Seal.  See  note  on  30  7.  The  Great  Seal  is  the  seal 
of  state.  It  is  affixed  to  the  writs  which  summon  a  new  Parliament,  as 
well  as  to  treaties  and  similar  documents. 

40  19.     Somers  and  Halifax.     See  30  8,  and  note  on  30  9. 

40  24.     Secretary  of  State.     See  note  on  30  7. 

40  27.  Charles,  Earl  of  Sunderland  (1675-1722).  He  was  person- 
ally very  repugnant  to  Queen  Anne,  but  he  was  Marlborough's  son-in- 
law,  and  was  forced  upon  her.  He  later  became  Prime  Minister  under 
George  I.,  but  was  involved  in  the  scandals  connected  with  the  South 
Sea  Bubble,  and  disgraced  in  consequence.  Tickell's  edition  of  Addi- 
son's works  was  dedicated  to  him. 

40  30.  Godolphin  and  Marlborough  were  still  nominally  Tories;  but 
in  the  following  year  they  formally  declared  themselves  Whigs.  Their 
secession  left  the  leadership  of  the  party  to  Robert  Harley  (1661-1724), 
who  later  became  Earl  of  Oxford,  and  to  Henry  St.  John  (1678-1751), 
subsequently  raised  to  the  peerage  with  the  title  of  Viscount  Bolingbroke. 

41  7.  Prosecution  of  Sacheverell.  This  was  not  until  17 10. 
Sacheverell  was  a  London  clergyman,  and  a  narrow  and  violent  Tory. 
He  accordingly  preached  a  sermon  reflecting  on  the  government,  and 
strongly  upheld  the  extreme  Tory  doctrine  that  it  was  unlawful  under 


NOTES.  115 

any  circumstances  to  oppose  the  monarch  by  force  —  a  doctrine  which, 
of  course,  impeached  the  title  of  William  III.  and  Anne.  This  sermon 
was  printed,  and  resulted  in  Sacheverell's  impeachment.  He  was  con- 
victed, but  only  a  nominal  penalty  was  imposed ;  and  the  excitement 
caused  by  his  trial  contributed  materially  to  the  defeat  of  the  Whigs  in 
the  elections  of  the  same  year,  which  resulted  in  the  fall  of  Godolphin 
and  the  accession  to  power  of  Harley  and  St.  John. 

41  12.  Lord  President  of  the  Council.  The  presiding  officer  of  the 
Privy  Council  is  a  member  of  cabinet. 

42  5.     The  censorship  of  the  press  ceased  in  1693. 

42  13.  Conduct  of  the  Allies.  This  pamphlet,  written  by  Swift  in 
the  interest  of  Harley  and  the  Tory  party,  proved  a  most  effective  cam- 
paign document.  Swift  himself  said  that  it  furnished  all  the  Tory 
orators  in  Parliament  with  their  arguments.  It  sought  to  show  that 
English  interests  had  been  entirely  sacrificed  to  those  of  the  continen- 
tal allies  in  the  War  of  the  Spanish  Succession,  and  so  to  win  the 
nation  to  the  Tory  policy  of  an  early  peace. 

42  14.  The  Freeholder  was  a  political  paper  published  by  Addison 
during  the  first  half  of  the  year  17 16.  It  appeared  twice  a  week,  and 
was  written  in  the  interest  of  the  new  King  (George  I.)  and  his  ministry. 
See  p.  87. 

43  5.  Grub  Street,  once  in  a  respectable  residence  quarter  of  London, 
had  been  left  behind  by  the  tide  of  fashion,  even  then  setting  strongly 
westward,  and  abandoned  to  cheap  lodgings,  not  too  high-priced  for 
the  very  slender  purses  of  the  impecunious  hack-writers  who  swarmed 
in  it  and  desperately  fought  starvation  with  their  pens. 

43  13.     St.  John.     See  note  on  40  30. 

43  17.  Swift,  Jonathan  (1667-1745),  was  originally  a  Whig,  but 
went  over  to  the  Tories  on  their  accession  to  power  in  17 10.  This  was 
partly  because  as  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England  he  was  more 
in  sympathy  with  the  Tories  on  church  issues,  and  partly  because  the 
Tory  leaders,  especially  Harley,  made  much  of  him  and  took  him  into 
their  inner  circle.  His  literary  services  to  the  party  were  of  the 
first  importance  (see  note  on  42  13),  and  gave  him  great  influence. 
He  himself  says  that  he  could  get  office  for  everybody  but  himself.  He 
wished  a  bishopric,  but  owing  to  the  opposition  of  Anne  was  obliged  to 
content  himself  with  the  Deanery  of  St.  Patrick's  in  Dublin.  He  witli- 
drew  thither  in  17 14,  and  never  afterward  returned  to  England  save 
once,  in  1726,  for  a  brief  visit  with  Pope. 

43  24.  His  cassock  and  his  pudding  sleeves,  an  allusion  to  the 
customary  dress  of  an  Anglican  clergyman.      '  Pudding,'  i.e.  wide-puffed. 


116  NOTES. 

44  11-19.  This  is  more  interesting  as  an  illustration  of  Macaulay's 
love  of  paradox  than  convincing  as  an  explanation  of  the  reasons  for 
Addison's  popularity. 

44  22.  Mary  Montagu.  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  (1687-1762) 
vi^as  for  many  years  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  figures  in  English 
society.  Of  noble  blood,  and  the  wife  of  a  distinguished  politician,  she 
was  also  something  of  a  writer,  and  fond  of  the  society  of  literary  men. 
Her  friendship  with  Pope  and  the  subsequent  bitter  quarrel  between 
them  are  familiar  incidents  in  that  poet's  life,  and  occasioned  some  of 
his  bitterest  satire. 

44  28.  Stella.  When  Swift  left  college  he  became  private  secre- 
tary to  Sir  William  Temple,  and  there  grew  very  fond  of  Esther  Johnson, 
the  daughter  of  Temple's  housekeeper.  She  afterwards  crossed  to 
Ireland  to  live  near  Swift,  and  they  were  always  fast  friends.  Rumor 
had  it  that  they  were  secretly  married,  but  the  evidence  is  by  no  means 
satisfactory.  There  was  never,  however,  any  suspicion  of  scandal  in 
their  relations.  While  Swift  was  in  England  he  wrote  his  Journal  to 
Stella  —  a  kind  of  pet  name  which  he  always  used  —  keeping  her  in- 
formed of  all  the  details  of  his  life  and  movements. 

45  1.  Young,  Edward  (i 681-1765),  best  known  as  the  author  of 
Night  Thoughts,  is  a  poet  whose  somber  and  meditative  genius  is  less 
esteemed  in  the  present  than  it  was  in  the  last  century. 

45  13.  Macaulay  quotes  from  Pope's  confirmatory  allusion  to  the 
same  trait  in  his  famous  characterization  of  Addison :  — 

Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And,  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer. 

45  16.     Tatler,  No.  163. 
45  17.     Spectator,  No.  568. 

45  27.  When  the  play  ended.  Theatrical  performances  ordinarily 
began  in  Addison's  time  at  five  o'clock,  so  that  at  their  conclusion  the 
evening  was  still  young. 

46  32.  Boswell,  James  (i 740-1 795),  was  a  Scotchman  who  was  so 
impressed  with  the  greatness  of  Johnson  that  he  left  his  home  and  went 
to  London  to  get  a  sight  of  him.  In  the  course  of  time  Johnson's  favor 
and  friendship  exalted  him  to  the  summit  of  earthly  felicity.  He  spent 
his  days  and  nights  in  studying  his  hero  and  noting  down  every  word 
that  fell  from  his  lips.  As  a  result  his  Life  of  Johnson  is  a  masterpiece 
of  biography,  and  Boswellism  a  synonym  of  hero-worship. 

46  33.  Hurd,  Richard,  D.D.  (1720-1808),  Bishop  of  Worcester, 
edited  the  works  of  Bishop  Warburton  after  the  death  of  the  latter, 
with  a  prefatory  life  of  enthusiastic  eulogy. 


NOTES.  117 

47  12.  He  was  generally  considered  insane,  and  was  so  pronounced 
by  the  coroner's  jury  after  his  suicide.  The  crime  of  which  he  was 
accused  (1.  14)  w^as  the  forgery  of  a  will. 

47  18.     Budgell  left  on  his  desk  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  was  written :  — 

What  Cato  did  and  Addison  approved 
Cannot  be  wrong. 

47  24.     The    nickname    of    '  Namby-Pamby '   was    bestowed   upon 

Philips   in  ridicule   of  some   children's   verses  written  by  him,   one  of 

w^hich  began :  — 

Dimply  damsel,  sweetly  smiling. 

Philips  was  the  author,  or  rather  translator,  of  the  play  The  Distressed 
Mother,  to  which  Addison  takes  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  in  the  Spectator, 
No.  335.     The  Spectator  was  not  ignorant  of  the  art  of  puffing. 

47  28  ff.  Macaulay  in  his  admiration  for  Addison  is  very  unfair  to 
Steele.  Sometimes  it  is  by  downright  misstatement ;  more  often  by 
false  coloring  not  easy  to  correct  within  the  limits  of  these  notes.  The 
reader  is  referred  to  Forster's  essay  on  Steele,  published  in  the  Quar- 
terly Review,  No.  CXCIL,  for  a  detailed  answer  to  Macaulay,  and  to 
Aitken's  Life  of  Steele  (2  vols.,  pp.  419,  452)  for  an  exhaustive 
biography. 

47  32.  Had  led  a  vagrant  life.  By  no  means,  unless  Macaulay 
means  that  as  a  soldier  he  could  of  course  have  no  permanent  place  of 
residence.  Steele  himself  tells  us  that  he  lost  the  succession  to  an  Irish 
estate  when  he  went  into  the  army,  but  military  service  was  far  from  being 
a  social  degradation.  The  army  afforded  a  career  for  gentlemen  ;  Steele 
enlisted  as  a  cadet  in  the  Lifeguards,  the  privates  in  which  were  gentle- 
men's sons,  and  soon  became  an  officer.  Within  six  years  of  the  time 
he  left  Oxford  he  was  captain  in  the  army,  and  one  of  the  fashionable 
London  wits.  No  one  would  guess  from  the  text  that  when  Addison 
returned  from  his  travels  he  found  his  old  schoolfellow  in  social  stand- 
ing quite  his  equal,  and  in  literary  reputation  decidedly  his  superior. 

48  2  ff.  Notice  Macaulay's  fondness  for  antithesis,  and  the  dangers 
of  such  a  style. 

48  4.  His  principles  weak.  His  principles  were  high,  and  his  con- 
duct above  the  standard  of  the  age.  "  Not  that  Steele  was  worse  than 
his  time,"  says  Thackeray ;  "  on  the  contrary,  a  far  better,  truer,  and 
higher-hearted  man  than  most  who  lived  in  it."      {English  Humorists.) 

48  4-6.  This  is  a  harsh  way  of  saying  that  he  could  not  live  up  to 
his  ideal ;  most  of  us  cannot.  But  he  tried.  "  Steele  committed  no 
error  which  he  did  not  honestly  regret,  as  we  know  by  the  prayers  and 


118  NOTES. 

other  pieces  that  have  come  down  to  us.  .  .  .  The  inconsistency  which 
was  so  often  evident  between  his  private  life  and  his  published  writings 
arose  from  a  certain  weakness  of  character  ;  his  purpose  was  consistently 
good,  but  he  had  not  always  sufficient  strength  of  w^ill  to  enable  him  to 
carry  it  out."     (Aitken's  Life  of  Steele,  II.  345.) 

48  7.  Much  of  the  rake,  and  a  little  of  the  swindler.  He  was  an 
affectionate  and,  so  far  as  known,  a  faithful  husband  at  a  time  when 
fidelity  was  an  unfashionable  virtue;  and  he  respected  womanhood, 
and  taught  others  to  respect  it,  in  an  age  w^hich  regarded  women  as 
playthings  and  considered  seduction  an  amusement.  As  for  the  second 
charge,  it  is  true  that  he  was  constantly  behindhand,  and  often  sued  for 
debt  ;  but  swindler  is  a  hard  name  for  a  man  who,  with  ^  large  but 
variable  income,  lives  ahead  of  it,  borrows  on  too  confident  expecta- 
tions, and  gets  into  the  clutches  of  money-lenders. 

48  11.  Diced  himself  into  a  sponging-house.  This  is  purely  imagi- 
nary. "  wSteele  .  .  .  attacked,  with  all  the  vigor  of  which  he  was  capable, 
the  fashionable  vice  of  gambling."  (Courthope's  Life  of  Addison,  p.  99. 
See  Tatler,  Nos.  25,  26,  29,  39.) 

48  12.  Drank  himself  into  a  fever.  Steele  often  drank  too  much  ; 
what  has  Macaulay  just  said  about  Addison  ? 

48  13.     Not  unmingled  with  scorn.     "  So  much  the  worse  for  Addi- 
son, if  that  be  true  ;  for  very  certainly  he  succeeded  in  concealing  it 
from  his  friend,  and,  we  imagine,  from  every  one  but  Mr.  Macaulay." 
(C.  P.  Forster,  in  Quarterly  Review?) 
48  14.     Introduced  him  to  the  great.     See  note  on  47  32. 
48  15.    Procured  a  good  place  for  him.     See  note  on  51  24. 
48  21.     It  is  strange  that  Mr.  Aitken  has  been  unable  to  discover  in 
the  records  of  the  law-courts,  which  contain  abundant  proofs  of  Steele's 
pecuniary  troubles,  any  evidence  of  this  transaction.     But  the  story  is 
confirmed  by  too  many  narratives  to  warrant  our  rejecting  it.      The 
most  trustworthy  account  is  that  given  by  the  actor,  Benjamin  Victor. 
According  to  this,  Addison  intended  from  the  beginning  to  recover  by 
process  of  law,  hoping  to  teach  Steele  a  lesson.     Certainly  the  latter 
did  not  lack  instruction  of  this  kind. 

48  34.  Fielding's  Amelia.  Henry  Fielding  (1707-17 54),  one  of  the 
greatest  of  English  novelists.  His  best  works,  Totn  Jones  and  the 
History  of  Amelia,  give  a  vivid  picture  of  English  life  in  the  eighteenth 
century. 

49  1 1  ff.  Macaulay  does  not  pretend  that  this  picture  is  more  than 
imaginary ;  it  is  therefore  unnecessary  to  waste  much  time  over  it. 
But  it  should  be  noticed  that  the  amount  of  the  loan  was,  according  to 


NOTES.  119 

Victor,  not  /"loo,  but  ^^looo ;  and  it  is  certain  that  Addison  was  in  very 
comfortable  circumstances  at  the  time  when  it  was  made. 

50  26.  In  Bohn's  edition  of  Addison's  works  it  is  stated  that  the 
Irish  Journals  contain  only  eight  entries  respecting  him  during  the  time 
that  he  sat  as  member,  and  that  "  no  actual  speeches  are  there  recorded, 
but  merely  minutes." 

50  33.  Westminster.  Both  Houses  of  Parliament  hold  their  sessions 
in  Westminster  Palace. 

51  23.  The  Gazetteer  was  the  editor  of  the  Gazette,  a  newspaper 
published  by  the  state.  Charles  II.  established  it  in  1665,  ^^"^  sup- 
pressed all  other  newspapers,  in  order  to  prevent  the  publication  of 
anything  that  might  hurt  the  government.  The  licensing  act,  the 
means  of  this  suppression,  expired  in  1695,  but  the  government  con- 
tinued the  Gazette,  supplying  it  with  official  information  on  state  affairs. 
It  still  survives;  it  appears  twice  a  week,  and  contains  all  government 
proclamations,  orders,  and  regulations,  and  legal  notices  of  various 
kinds. 

51  24.  Steele  was  appointed  Gazetteer,  "not  by  Sunderland  at  the 
request  of  Addison,  as  Mr.  Macaulay  says,  but  by  Harley  at  the  request 
of  Mayn waring,  as  both  Swift  and  Steele  inform  us."     (Forster.) 

51  33,  .34.  Will's,  the  Grecian.  Two  well-known  coffee-houses,  pat- 
ronized, the  first  by  the  wits  and  the  second  by  scholars. 

52  3.  Steele  from  the  beginning  attacked  vices,  and  labored  to 
improve  manners  and  morals.  Macaulay  is  wrong  in  representing 
Addison  as  the  leader.  "  There  is  scarcely  a  department  of  essay- 
writing  developed  in  the  Spectator  which  does  not  trace  its  origin  to 
Steele."     (Courthope's  Addison) 

52  10-17.  Steele  could  not  vie  with  Addison  in  refinement  and  ele- 
vation of  thought  and  elegance  of  manner  ;  but  he  is  more  spontaneous, 
and  knew  far  better  how  to  touch  the  emotions.  His  humor  is  fresh  and 
hearty,  and  is  very  far  from  being  the  mere  overflow  of  animal  spirits. 

52  22.  Partridge's  almanac  pretended  to  predict  coming  events,  his- 
torical as  well  as  meteorological.  Bickerstaff  declared  himself  to  be 
the  only  one  gifted  with  the  power  to  read  the  future,  and  offered  to 
stake  his  reputation  on  the  prophecy  that  Partridge  would  die  on  a  cer- 
tain day.  The  day  went  by,  and  a  second  pamphlet  appeared,  also 
written  by  Swift  but  under  another  pseudonym,  relatmg  how  the  pro- 
phecy had  come  true.  Poor  Partridge  was  furious  ;  he  protested  in 
print  that  he  was  still  alive  and  well,  but  to  no  avail.  Swift  assured 
him  that  he  was  dead,  whatever  he  might  say  ;  and  Partridge  was 
snowed  under  by  the  pamphlets  of  the  wits. 


120  NOTES. 

52  34  ff.  This  quotation  is  from  Steele's  preface  to  the  first  collected 
edition  of  the  Tatler.  But  it  is  altogether  unfair  to  take  at  its  face 
value  Steele's  confession  of  indebtedness  to  his  friend.  On  that  subject 
his  generous  enthusiasm  always  carries  him  away.  Steele  wrote  i88 
papers  to  Addison's  42  ;  wherever  Addison  succeeded  in  a  new  depar- 
ture it  was  by  following  a  path  which  Steele  had  first  struck  out ;  and  if 
Addison's  was  the  finer  literary  workmanship,  Steele's  was  the  richer 
humor,  the  more  genuine  pathos,  and  the  warmer  heart.  "If  Steele 
had  not  furnished  Addison  with  the  opportunity  for  displaying  his 
special  power,  Addison  would  in  all  probability  have  been  known  to  us 
only  as  an  accomplished  scholar  and  poet  of  no  great  power.  The 
world  owes  Addison  to  Steele."     (Aitken's  Life  of  Steele,  I.  248.) 

53  19.  Temple,  Sir  William  (i 628-1 699),  an  English  diplomatist, 
statesman,  and  essayist.  He  was  a  kinsman  of  Swift.  See  note  on 
44  28. 

53  23.  Horace  Walpole  (17 17-1797),  son  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole  (see 
note  on  89  34),  was  a  Uterary  dilettante,  and  a  lifelong  friend  of  the 
poet  Gray.  His  six  volumes  of  correspondence  are  full  of  gossipy 
information. 

53  24.  Half  German  jargon.  Carlyle  was  at  the  height  of  his  repu- 
tation when  Macaulay  wrote  this  Essay. 

53  29.  Menander  (342-291  (?)  b.c),  a  Greek  dramatic  poet,  of  whose 
comedies  only  fragments  have  been  preserved. 

53  31.  Cowley  (1618-1667),  a  leader  in  the  seventeenth  century 
school  of  '  conceited  '  poets.  The  characteristics  of  this  school  were 
fancy  and  ingenuity.  In  their  effort  for  originality  and  '  wit '  they  used 
the  most  remote  analogies,  and  were  often  harsh,  cold,  or  obscure. 

Butler  (1612-16S0)  satirized  the  Puritans  in  his  Hudibras,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  Charles  II.  and  his  courtiers. 

54  3-6.  Not  many  people  would  consider  that  the  mere  invention  of 
fictions,  however  numerous,  or  however  original  or  happy,  would  by 
itself  prove  a  very  good  title  to  '  the  rank  of  a  great  poet.'  The  crea- 
tion of  character  which  Macaulay  praises  in  1. 12  would  constitute  a  better 
claim  ;  but  the  half  satiric,  half  sympathetic  observation  of  life  which  pro- 
duces a  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  is  still  far  removed  from  the  poetic  im- 
agination which  gives  birth  to  an  Ophelia  or  a  Lear  ;  and  even  this  im- 
agination would  be  dumb  and  ineffectual  if  unwedded  to  poetic  diction. 

54  11.  Clarendon,  Edward  Hyde,  Earl  of  (1608-1674),  father-in-law 
of  James  II.,  and  virtually  Prime  Minister  under  Charles  II.  ;  famous 
also  as  the  author  of  a  history  of  the  war  between  Charles  I.  and  his 
Parliament. 


NOTES.  121 

54  15.     Cervantes  (i 547-1616).     Author  of  what  immortal  work  } 

55  17.  Jack  Pudding,  a  juggler  who  amuses  the  crowd  by  feats  of 
voracity ;  a  buffoon. 

55  32,  33.     These  are  all  eighteenth  century  periodicals. 

57  6.     Bettesworth,  an  Irish  barrister  whom  Swift  satirized. 

57  7.  Le  Franc,  Marquis  de  Pompignan,  a  somewhat  conceited 
poet,  ventured  on  his  admission  to  the  French  Academy  to  attack  the 
philosophers.  Voltaire  overwhelmed  him  with  ridicule  by  anonymous 
pamphlets,  which  made  him  the  laughing-stock  of  Paris  and  drove  him 
back  to  his  province. 

57  17.  Jeremy  Collier  ( 1 650-1 7 26),  an  English  clergyman,  published 
in  1698  a  work  on  the  Profaneness  and  hnmorality  of  the  English  Stage, 
which  attracted  wide  attention  and  helped  to  bring  about  a  much 
needed  reformation. 

57  18.  Sir  George  Etherege  (i635(i>)-i69i)  and  William  Wycherley 
(i64o(.?)-i7i5)  were  two  of  the  worst  offenders  against  decency  among 
the  Restoration  dramatists.  Etherege  was  the  first  to  introduce  the 
pure  comedy  of  manners,  and  Wycherley's  work,  in  spite  of  its  coarse- 
ness and  brutality,  shows  marked  dramatic  power. 

57  25.  John  Hale  (i  584-1 656)  and  John  Tillotson  (1630-1694),  two 
distinguished  Anglican  divines,  the  latter  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 

57  26.     Congreve.     See  note  on  2  16. 

57  27.  Vanbrugh  (i666(.?)-i726),  another  of  the  popular  dramatists 
who  fell  under  Collier's  just  censure. 

57  6-10.     Tom  Folio,  Tatler,  No.  158. 
Ned  Softly,  Tatler,  No.  163. 

The  Political  Upholsterer,  Tatler,  No.  155. 

Court  of  Honor,  Tatler,  Nos.  250,  253,  256,  259,  262,  265.     But  in  all 
of  the  papers  on  this  subject  Steele  is  supposed  to  have  had  a  hand. 
Thermometer  of  Zeal,  Tatler,  No.  220. 
Frozen  Words,  Tatler,  No.  254. 
Memoirs  of  the  Shilling,  Tatler,  No.  249. 

58  24-26.  The  absurdity  of  this  statement  will  be  seen  by  referring 
again  to  the  notes  on  52  3,  10-17,  34  ff. 

59  5.  Outbreaks  due,  the  first  to  popular  sympathy  with  Queen 
Caroline,  who  was  so  shamefully  treated  by  her  husband,  George  IV., 
that  she  left  him  and  in  1820  was  brought  to  trial  on  a  charge  of 
adultery  ;  the  second  to  the  agitation  in  favor  of  the  Reform  Bill,  finally 
carried  by  Lord  John  Russell  in  1832. 

59  15.  Marli.  The  village  of  Marly-le-Roi  is  situated  four  miles  from 
the  palace  of  Versailles,  and  was  at  times  the  residence  of  Louis  XIV. 


122  NOTES. 

59  16.     St.  James's  was  the  royal  residence  in  London  during  the 
eighteenth  century. 
59  19.     Sunderland.     See  note  to  40  27. 

59  25.  Break  his  white  staff.  This  is  the  emblem  of  office  of  the 
Lord  Treasurer. 

60  6-15.  But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  this  same  ministry  had 
protracted  a  burdensome  and  bloody  war  for  their  partisan  advantage, 
having  rejected  proposals  for  peace  which  conceded  to  them  everything 
for  which  they  had  begun  hostilities,  and  that  instead  of  defending 
England  they  were  now  trying  unjustly  to  conquer  France. 

60  12.  England  and  Scotland,  though  ruled  by  the  same  king  from 
the  accession  of  James  I.,  were  independent  countries  with  separate 
governments  until  1707,  when  the  union  was  peacefully  carried 
through. 

60  17-20.  Macaulay  was  a  good  Whig,  and  liked  to  remind  the 
Tories  of  their  failures.  Both  the  War  of  American  Independence  and 
the  Napoleonic  wars  took  place  under  Tory  rule.  It  was  during  the 
latter  that  an  English  army  was  sent,  in  1809,  to  seize  Antwerp.  The 
expedition  was  disgracefully  mismanaged,  and  the  troops,  left  on  the  low 
isle  of  Walcheren,  were  wasted  by  disease  until  they  were  good  for 
nothing.  The  failure  of  the  enterprise  caused  the  resignation  from  the 
ministry  of  Canning  and  Castlereagh,  who  fought  a  duel  over  the  ques- 
tion of  responsibility. 

61  6.  That  he  must  think  of  turning  tutor  again.  This  seems 
incredible.  In  this  same  year  he  bought  his  Bilton  estate,  which  cost 
him  ;^  10,000.  He  must  have  saved  a  good  deal  of  money  from  the 
emoluments  of  office,  and  the  Spectator  was  paying  well.  His  brother 
had  died  in  the  Indies  two  years  before,  and  left  him  a  large  estate ; 
but  it  was  badly  managed,  and  yielded  him  but  little.  This  is  probably 
the  fortune  which  Addison  said  he  had  lost. 

61  12.  Whig  corporations.  The  government  of  many  of  the  towns 
was  then  in  the  hands  of  corporations,  which  were  not  elected  by  the 
citizens,  but  were  self-perpetuating.  These  corporations  selected  the 
members  of  Parliament  for  their  towns. 

62  11.  There  is  no  reason  for  thinking  that  Steele  owed  his  reten- 
tion in  the  Commissionership  to  Addison,  as  Macaulay  implies.  Swift 
believed  that  it  was  his  influence  with  Harley  that  saved  Steele,  though 
the  latter  denied  that  this  was  true. 

62  26.  This  is  another  illustration  of  Macaulay's  persistent  belittling 
of  Steele. 

62  33,  34.     See  note  on  51  33,  34. 


NOTES.  123 

63  15-24.  Mr.  Courthope  in  his  Life  of  Addison  argues  that,  as  the 
Spectator  paper  was  the  joint  enterprise  of  Addison  and  Steele,  and  as 
the  Spectator  Club  is  the  framework  of  the  whole  design,  its  general 
outline  must  have  been  planned  by  both  of  them  together.  After  quot- 
ing Macaulay's  words  in  the  text,  he  says  :  "  This  is  a  very  misleading 
account  of  the  matter.  It  implies  that  the  characters  in  the  Spectator 
were  mere  casual  conceptions  of  Steele's  ;  that  Addison  knew  nothing 
about  them  till  he  saw  Steele's  rough  draft ;  and  that  he,  and  he  alone,  is 
the  creator  of  the  finished  character  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  But,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  character  of  Sir  Roger  is  full  of  contradictions  and 
inconsistencies  ;  and  the  want  of  unity  which  it  presents  is  easily 
explained  by  the  fact  that  it  is  the  work  of  four  different  hands.  ...  It 
had  evidently  been  predetermined  by  the  designers  of  the  Spectator  that 
the  Club  should  consist  of  certain  recognized  and  familiar  types  ;  the 
different  writers,  in  turns,  worked  on  these  types,  each  for  his  own  pur- 
pose and  according  to  the  bent  of  his  own  genius."  But  Addison  was 
nevertheless,  as  Macaulay  says,  the  creator  of  Sir  Roger  as  we  know 
him.  As  Mr.  Courthope  says,  "  Steele  gave  the  first  sketch  of  Sir 
Roger  in  a  few  rough  but  vigorous  strokes,  which  were  afterwards 
greatly  refined  and  altered  by  Addison." 

63  32, 33.  Richardson,  Fielding,  Smollett.  The  English  novel 
dates  from  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  w^hen  the  works  of 
these  three  great  writers  appeared.  Richardson  (1689-1761),  "the 
father  of  the  English  novel,"  was  first  in  the  field,  with  his  Pamela,  in 
1640.  This  led  Fielding  (see  note  on  48  34)  to  write  his  Joseph  Andrews, 
begun  as  a  satire  on  Pamela,  but  completed  with  slight  reference  to 
that  design.  In  1748  came  Tom  Jones,  the  greatest  book  of  the  whole 
period.  Smollett  (1721-1771)  began  to  write  in  1749,  when  Roderick 
Random  appeared.  Other  famous  novels  of  his  are  Peregrine  Pickle 
and  Humphrey  Clinker. 

64  9.  The  Mohawks.  These  were  bands  of  dissolute  young  men 
w^ho  infested  the  streets  of  London  at  night,  diverting  themselves  with 
such  pleasant  amusements  as  beating  or  mutilating  citizens  and  rolling 
women  down  hill  in  barrels. 

64  10.     The  Distressed  Mother.     See  note  on  47  24. 

64  31,  32.  This  is  an  extreme  statement,  as  Mr.  Forster  shows  in 
detail  ;  and  yet,  as  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  says,  "  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
Addison's  essays  were  those  which  achieved  the  widest  popularity, 
which  are  still  remembered  when  the  old  Spectator  is  mentioned,  and 
which  were  the  admiration  of  all  the  critics  of  the  eighteenth  century." 
(*  Addison  '  in  Dictionary  of  National  Biography^ 


124  NOTES. 

65  23-27.     Nos.  26,  329,  69,  317,  159,  343,  517. 

66  13.  The  stamp  tax.  This  was  imposed  by  the  Tories  in  17 12, 
and  was  intended  to  lessen  the  number  of  publications  and  so  to  cut  off 
some  of  the  attacks  on  the  government.  It  required  a  half-penny 
stamp  on  each  printed  half -sheet.  Only  the  strongest  papers  could  live 
under  so  heavy  a  tax. 

67  9.     The  Guardian.     See  note  on  19  n. 

67  15.  Nestor  Ironside  and  the  Miss  Lizards.  These  characters 
fill  in  the  Guardia^i  the  position  held  in  the  Spectator  by  the  members 
of  the  Spectator  Club. 

68  9.     No  attempt  was  then  made  at  accurate  historical  costuming. 
68  15.     Booth,   Barton  (i 681-1733),  made  his  reputation  in  the  part 

of  Cato  as  the  leading  actor  of  his  time. 

68  18.  The  Inns  of  Court.  Four  buildings  (Gray's  Inn,  Lincoln's 
Inn,  The  Inner  Temple,  and  The  Middle  Temple)  owned  and  occupied 
by  the  London  barristers. 

68  20.  The  territory  within  the  limits  of  the  original  city  of  London 
is  the  business  center  of  the  metropolis.  The  "  auxiliaries  from  the 
City"  were  therefore  made  up  of  representatives  of  the  commercial 
class,  who  were  not  supposed  to  know  much  about  literature. 

68  22.  Jonathan's  and  Garraway's,  two  coffee-houses  frequented 
by  brokers  and  merchants. 

68  33.     Kit-Cat.     See  note  on  18  17. 

68  34.  The  October  Club  was  made  up  of  Tories,  and  represented 
the  extreme  wing  of  the  party. 

69  30.     Bolingbroke.     See  note  on  40  30. 

70  24.     Athalie.     See  note  on  18  26. 

Saul.  The  most  successful  play  of  Vittorio  Alfieri(i  749-1803),  a  great 
Italian  dramatist  who  followed  the  classic  model.  "  He  occupies  his 
scene  with  one  great  action  and  one  ruling  passion,  and  removes  from 
it  every  accessory  event  or  feeling."     {Enc.  Brit.) 

Of  Cinna,  which  was  written  by  Corneille,  the  same  work  says  that 
it  is  "  perhaps  generally  considered  the  poet's  masterpiece,  and  it 
undoubtedly  contains  the  finest  single  scene  in  all  French  tragedy,  a 
scene  which  may  take  rank  with  any  other  perhaps  ever  written." 
Cato  can  claim  no  such  praise  as  this.  But  Macaulay  seems  to  under- 
estimate the  whole  school. 

71  32.  It  may  be,  as  Macaulay  says,  that  Pope  was  more  galled  by 
the  censure  than  gratified  by  the  praise,  but  it  is  not  Ukely;  and, 
further,  there  is  not  the  slightest  particle  of  evidence  for  it.  On  the 
contrary,  Pope's  expressions  certainly  show  gratitude  for  the  favorable 


NOTES.  125 

notice,  which  was,  he  says,  so  lavish  of  praise  as  to  make  him  hope  it 
indicates  a  particular  partiality  to  himself.  This  letter  was  sent,  not  to 
Addison,  whom  Pope  did  not  know  at  the  time,  but  to  Steele,  whom  he 
regarded  as  the  author  of  the  criticism ;  and  it  led  to  his  introduction 
to  Addison. 

72  4.  Whom  he  had  injured  without  provocation.  This  is  another 
assumption.  Dennis  had  very  likely  criticised  Pope's  Pastorals,  and 
so  drawn  upon  himself  Pope's  ridicule  in  the  Essay  on  Critidst?i, 
vv.  585-587:  — 

But  Appius  reddens  at  each  word  you  speak, 
And  stares  tremendous  with  a  threatening  eye, 
Like  some  old  tyrant  done  in  tapestry. 

Dennis's  reply  to  these  three  comparatively  innocent  lines  was  an  abusive 
pamphlet  of  thirty-two  pages,  in  which  he  called  Pope  a  '  hunchbacked 
toad,'  '  a  little  affected  hypocrite,' '  the  very  bow  of  the  god  of  love,'  etc. 

73  20-23.  Here  again  Macaulay  is  altogether  too  hard  on  Steele. 
His  friends,  it  is  true,  were  inclined  to  regret  his  abandonment  of  the 
Guardian  in  order  to  devote  himself  to  political  waiting ;  but  there  was 
no  lack  of  respect  in  their  comments  on  his  conduct.  He  was,  of 
course,  virulently  attacked  and  calumniated  by  the  Tory  writers. 

76  26,  27.  As  Swift  grew  older  his  pessimism  and  fierce  hatred  of 
society  increased,  and  his  last  years  were  darkened  by  terrible  suffering 
and  mental  disease.  In  1708  Swift  was  in  the  full  strength  and  vigor 
of  middle  life,  influential  and  active  among  men;  in  1738  he  was  over 
seventy,  and  descending  through  a  lonely  and  wretched  old  age  to  his 
most  pitiable  end. 

76  34.  Swift's  Tale  of  a  Tub,  which  was  written  as  a  satire  on  abuses 
in  the  Church,  was  regarded  as  an  attack  on  the  Christian  religion 
itself.  It  is  supposed  to  have  roused  the  hostility  of  Queen  Anne,  and 
so  to  have  made  S^^^ft's  elevation  to  a  bishopric  im.possible. 

77  4.  Sacrificed  honor  and  consistency  to  revenge.  See  note  on 
43  17.  Undoubtedly  personal  motives  had  their  influence  on  Swift, 
but  there  is  no  occasion  for  saying  that  his  change  of  party  was  entirely 
due  to  them. 

77  32.  More  odious  than  any  other  man,  because  he  was  suspected 
of  having  been  concerned  in  the  plot  to  bring  back  the  Stuarts  to  the 
throne,  which  some  of  the  Tory  leaders  had  formed.  Within  a  few 
years,  however.  Swift  was  very  popular  in  Ireland. 

78  31.  But  Steele  asserts  positively,  in  the  letter  to  Congreve  pre- 
fixed to  the  second  edition  of  the  play,  that  Addison  was  its  author. 


126  NOTES. 

79  4.  In  1715  a  rising  took  place  in  Scotland  in  favor  of  the  Stuart 
Pretender,  —  the  rebelUon  described  in  Scott's  novel  of  Rob  Roy. 

79  12.     Squire  Western,  in  Fielding's  novel,  Tom  Jones. 

80  1.  He  accordingly  determined,  etc.  The  absurdity  of  represent- 
ing that  Steele  started  the  Town  Talk  because  he  was  dissatisfied  with 
the  moderation  of  the  Freeholder  is  evident  when  we  remember  that  the 
first  number  of  the  Freeholder  appeared  on  December  23,  and  of  the  IVtun 
Talk  on  December  17.  Nor  is  it  remarkable  that  the  latter  has  not  been 
handed  down  to  fame,  since  only  nine  numbers  of  it  appeared. 

80  11.  Pope  was  false  and  malevolent.  In  the  case  of  Pope,  as  of 
Steele,  we  must  guard  against  Macaulay's  characterization  of  him.  To 
give  to  Pope's  sensitive  and  morbid  nature  and  strangely  mixed  charac- 
ter the  right  interpretation  called  for  a  skill  in  reading  motives  which 
Macaulay,  with  all  his  powers,  did  not  possess.  He  had  the  historic, 
but  not  the  dramatic,  imagination;  he  did  not  hold  the  key  to  the 
human  heart.  It  is  easy  to  paint  Pope  black;  and  Macaulay  admits 
into  his  picture  no  other  color.  Yet  the  injustice  is  hard  to  correct, 
because  his  mistake  lies,  not  in  a  misstatement,  but  in  a  misinterpreta- 
tion, of  facts.  Pope's  treatment  of  his  friends  cannot  always  be  called 
honorable  according  to  our  standards  ;  he  was  unfortunately  fond  of 
equivocation,  and  not  afraid  of  downright  falsehood ;  and  those  who 
injured  him  he  hated  with  a  rancorous  and  uncontrolled  vindictiveness  ; 
and  still  he  should  not  be  called  unqualifiedly  false  and  malevolent. 
See  Thackeray's  essay  on  Pope  in  English  Hinnorists  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century. 

80  19.  The  Rosicrucian  mythology.  See  Pope's  letter  to  Miss 
Arabella  Fermor  prefixed  to  the  Rape  of  the  Lock. 

80  20.  He  asked  Addison's  advice.  It  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that 
this  anecdote  is  fictitious,  and  invented  by  Pope  to  strengthen  his  case 
against  Addison. 

81  25.     See  note  on  21  25. 

81  26-29.  This  also  is  doubtful.  It  is  one  of  Spence's  anecdotes 
(see  note  on  19  8),  and  was  related  to  him  by  Pope,  whose  veracity 
cannot  be  relied  upon. 

81  33  ff.  This  whole  story  Macaulay  takes  from  Pope's  account  to 
Spence.  With  regard  to  it  Mr.  Courthope  says  :  "  It  is  scarcely  neces- 
sary to  say  that,  after  the  light  that  has  been  thrown  on  Pope's  charac- 
ter by  the  detection  of  the  frauds  he  practised  in  the  publication  of  his 
correspondence,  it  is  impossible  to  give  any  credence  to  the  tales  he 
poured  into  Spence's  ear,  tending  to  blacken  Addison's  character  and 
to  exalt  his  own.'' 


NOTES.  m 

82  39.  There  is  no  question,  however,  of  the  great  merits  of  Pope's 
Iliad  zjs,  an  independent  poem,  great  as  are  its  defects  as  a  translation. 

83  14.  There  does  seem  to  have  been  in  circulation  a  vague  rumor 
that  Tickell  was  not  the  real  author  of  his  Translation.  See  Elwin 
and  Courthope's  edition  of  Pope's  Works,  Vol.  V.  p.  158. 

84  32,  33.  Satirist,  Age.  Two  unprincipled  papers  which,  at  the 
time  when  Macaulay  was  writing  his  essay,  had  become  notorious  by 
the  publication  of  sensational  and  scandalous  new^s.  The  editor  of 
the  Age  was  soon  after  sent  to  prison  for  criminal  libel. 

85  12.     See  note  on  44  22. 

85  27.  Pope  had  had  privately  printed  for  Bolingbroke  a  book 
written  by  the  latter,  and  had  ordered  the  printer  to  strike  off  and  keep 
a  large  number  of  additional  copies,  after  having,  according  to  Boling- 
broke, introduced  various  alterations. 

86  6.  This  whole  story  is  probably  apocryphal.  See  Courthopt's 
Life  of  Addison,  pp.  1 35-1 38. 

86  25.  Pope  wished  it  to  be  believed  that  he  sent  the  lines  to  Addi- 
son, but  -it  is  not  at  all  likely  that  he  did,  or  that  Addison  ever  saw  them. 
They  first  appeared  in  print  in  1722,  and  Pope  was  accused  of  having 
written  them  after  Addison's  death.  Pope,  of  course,  wished  to  show 
that  Addison  was  in  fault  for  the  quarrel,  and  that  his  own  conduct  had 
been  entirely  honorable.  The  lines  were  afterwards  included  in  the 
Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  and  are  as  follows  :  — 

Peace  to  all  such !  but  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles,  and  fair  fame  inspires  ; 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please. 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease  ; 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne, 
View  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike ; 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike ; 
Alike  reserved  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  friend ; 
Dreading  even  fools,  by  flatterers  besieged, 
And  so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  obliged  ; 
Like  Cato,  give  his  little  senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause  ; 
While  wits  and  templars  every  sentence  raise, 


128  NOTES. 

And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise  : 
Who  but  must  laugh,  if  such  a  man  there  be  ? 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  Atticus  were  he  ? 

86  34.  But  his  praise  of  Pope  is  always  with  some  reserve,  and  does 
not  equal  that  bestowed  on  such  minor  writers  of  his  coterie  as  Philips 
and  Tickell. 

87  10.  Addison's  field  was  social,  not  personal  satire.  He  is  always 
good-humored  and  without  passion ;  and  he  was  no  more  Pope's  match 
than  a  non-combatant  with  a  taste  for  archery  is  a  match  for  a  trained 
duelist. 

87  15.  Joseph  Surface  is  a  hypocritical  professor  of  youthful  virtue 
and  sober-headedness  in  Sheridan's  comedy,  77/^?  School  for  Scandal. 
Sir  Peter  Teazle  is  another  character  in  the  same  play. 

88  10.  Countess  Dowager,  i.e.  the  widowed  mother  of  the  heir  to 
the  title. 

88  13.  Holland  House.  "With  this  historic  mansion  Macaulay  him- 
self had  close  associations,  for  he  was  a  frequent  visitor  there  during 
the  life  of  the  third  Lord  Holland,  when  Lady  Holland's  drawing- 
rooms  used  to  number  among  their  distinguished  guests  many  men  of 
letters.  Holland  House  was  built  in  1607  by  Henry  Rich,  Earl  of  Hol- 
land, from  whom  it  took  its  name,  and  w^hose  descendant,  Edw^ard 
Rich,  Earl  of  Warwick  and  Holland,  had  been  the  first  husband  of  the 
Countess  Dowager,  Addison's  wife.  This  family  becoming  extinct,  the 
house  passed  into  other  hands,  and  though  its  later  owners  again  bore 
the  title  of  Holland,  it  was  by  a  new  patent.  Macaulay  in  his  Essay 
on  Lord  Holland  speaks  with  feeling  of  "  those  turrets  and  gardens 
which  are  associated  with  so  much  that  is  interesting  and  noble  —  with 
the  courtly  magnificence  of  Rich,  with  the  loves  of  Ormond,  with  the 
counsels  of  Cromwell,  with  the  death  of  Addison  .  .  .  that  dwelling  .  .  . 
the  favorite  resort  of  wits  and  beauties,  of  painters  and  poets,  of 
scholars,  philosophers,  and  statesmen." 

88  14.     Nell  Gwynn,  an  actress  who  became  mistress  of  Charles  II. 

89  5.  Lycidas.  What  were  the  circumstances  w^hich  led  Milton  to 
write  his  great  poem  of  this  name .-' 

89  11.     See  note  on  61  6. 

89  15.  William  Somervile  (1677-1742),  a  country  gentleman  and 
minor  poet,  whose  most  important  work,  The  Chase,  celebrates  the 
joys  of  hunting  with  dogs,  in  about  2000  lines  of  Miltonic  blank  verse. 

89  29-34.  The  old  Whig  leaders,  Godolphin,  Halifax,  Somers,  and 
Wharton,  were  now  dead,  and  besides,  it  was  the  policy  of  George  I.  to 
place  in  power  the  younger  men.     Lord  Townshend  (i 674-1 738)  had 


NOTES.  129 

not  in  the  previous  reign  been  in  the  cabinet,  but  had  won  distinction 
by  his  negotiation  of  the  so-called  '  barrier  treaty  '  with  Holland,  while 
on  an  embassy  to  that  country.  The  Tories  attacked  him  bitterly  for 
this,  but  when  George  I.  came  in  he  gave  Townshend  the  leading  place 
in  his  Whig  ministry.  Sunderland,  jealous  of  his  power,  succeeded  in 
undermining  his  influence  with  the  King,  whom  Townshend  offended 
by  his  reluctance  to  support  the  continental  interests  of  the  House  of 
Hanover  at  England's  expense  ;  and  the  minister  was  consequently 
dismissed. 

Sir  Robert  Walpole  (1676-1745)  was  Townshend's  brother-in-law, 
and  though  he  had  been  in  the  cabinet  in  Godolphin's  ministry,  and 
was  really  the  ablest  of  all  the  Whigs,  he  held  decidedly  a  second  place. 
On  Townshend's  dismissal  Walpole  resigned,  and  though  both  of  them 
were  afterwards  admitted  to  office  again  under  Sunderland,  it  was  not 
until  the  ruin  of  that  minister  by  the  bursting  of  the  South  Sea  Bubble 
in  1 72 1  that  they  took  a  leading  part  in  the  government.  From  that 
time  on  Walpole  for  more  than  twenty  years  held  power  as  Prime 
Minister. 

90  12.     Vincent  Bourne.     See  note  on  21  32. 

90  17.  Craggs,  James  (1686-1721),  won  his  way  in  politics  by  his 
capacity  for  business  and  his  skill  in  debate.  He  was,  like  Sunder- 
land, implicated  in  the  affairs  of  the  South  Sea  Company.  See  also 
the  mention  of  him  on  94  27  ff. 

90  23.  In  Macaulay's  day  this  allusion  was  instantly  understood. 
Joseph  Hume  (i 777-1855)  was  a  prominent  Liberal,  who  during  a  life- 
time of  parliamentary  service  devoted  himself  especially  to  cutting  off 
extravagant  or  unnecessary  expenditures. 

91  10.  Mr.  Courthope  doubts  the  report  of  Addison's  domestic 
infelicity.     See  Life  of  Addison,  p.  147. 

91  14.     House  of  Rich.     See  note  on  88  13. 

92  26-31.  In  the  year  171 1  the  Tory  ministry,  although  supported 
by  a  large  majority  in  the  House  of  Commons,  found  themselves  unable 
to  carry  out  their  policy  because  of  the  opposition  of  the  House  of 
Lords,  where  the  Whigs  were  in  control.  To  break  the  deadlock 
between  the  two  Houses  the  Queen  was  persuaded  by  Harley  to  create 
twelve  new  peers,  all  Tories,  thus  swamping  the  majority  unfavorable 
to  the  ministry. 

94  6.  The  Duenna,  a  very  popular  comedy  written  by  Richard 
Brinsley  Sheridan  (1751-1816),  and  first  acted  in  1775. 

94  12-15.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  when  Macaulay  first  wrote 
the  essay  he  did  not  know  that  Norris  was  the  actor  alluded  to  as 


f^ 


130  NOTES. 

'little  Dicky,'  but  nevertheless  had  the  sagacity  to  interpret  aright  the 
passage  on  which  his  predecessor  had  stumbled.  The  sentence  in  the 
text  first  appeared  as  follows  :  — 

"  Little  Dicky  was  evidently  the  nickname  of  some  comic  actor  who  played  the 
usurer  Gomez,  then  a  most  popular  part,  in  Dryden's  Spanish  Friar." 

To  this  sentence  Macaulay  appended  the  following  note:  — 

"  We  will  transcribe  the  whole  paragraph.  How  it  can  have  been  misun- 
derstood is  unintelligible  to  us. 

"  But  our  author's  chief  concern  is  for  the  poor  House  of  Commons,  whom 
he  represents  as  naked  and  defenseless,  when  the  crown  by  losing  this  preroga- 
tive, would  be  less  able  to  protect  them  against  the  power  of  a  House  of 
Lords.  Who  forbears  laughing  when  the  Spanish  Friar  represents  little 
Dicky,  under  the  person  of  Gomez,  insulting  the  colonel  that  was  able  to 
fright  him  out  of  his  wits  with  a  single  frown  ?  This  Gomez,  says  he,  flew 
upon  him  like  a  dragon,  got  him  down,  the  Devil  being  strong  in  him,  and 
gave  him  bastinado  on  bastinado  and  buffet  on  buffet,  which  the  poor  colonel, 
being  prostrate,  suffered  with  a  most  Christian  patience.  The  improbability 
of  the  fact  never  fails  to  raise  mirth  in  the  audience  ;  and  one  may  venture 
to  answer  for  a  British  House  of  Commons,  if  we  may  guess  from  its  con- 
duct hitherto,  that  it  will  scarce  be  either  so  tame  or  so  weak  as  our  author 
supposes." 

94  18.  This  is  far  from  true.  The  pamphlets  (there  were  in  all 
four  Plebeians  and  two  Old  Whigs)  are  for  the  most  part  purely  argu- 
mentative ;  but  Addison  was  the  first  to  allude  to  the  personality  of  his 
antagonist,  and  introduced  an  unnecessary  fling  at  an  unlucky  business 
venture  in  which  Steele  had  engaged.  Steele's  reply  is  neither  undigni- 
fied nor  unkind. 

95  1-13.  This  anecdote  also  is  derived  from  Spence's  conversations 
with  Pope,  and  is  therefore  suspicious. 

Gay,  John  (i 685-1 732),  a  plump,  good-natured  little  bard,  who  made 
two  clever  hits  in  light  opera,  and  enjoyed  the  warm  friendship  of  I'opt'. 

96  28.  The  Jerusalem  Chamber  is  on  the  southwest  side  of  West- 
minster Abbey,  and  is  the  meeting  place  of  the  Upper  House  of  Con- 
vocation of  the  Province  of  Canterbury.  It  takes  its  name  from  the 
tapestries,  w'orked  with  scenes  from  the  history  of  Jerusalem,  which 
formerly  hung  on  its  walls. 

97  10-13.  This  praise  is  hardly  merited.  The  piece  has  real  feeling, 
but  no  remarkable  power  ;  and  we  have  only  to  name  such  poems  as 
Lycidas,  Adonais,  and  In  Memoriam  to  appreciate  the  distance  by 
which  it  is  removed  from  the  work  of  the  great  poets. 

98  7.     Spectator,  No.  72,  and  Nos.  584,  585. 


ESSAY      ON      MILTON 


PREFATORY     NOTE 


To  Professors  Albert  S.  Cook,  of  Yale  University,  and 
George  Lyman  Kittredge,  of  Harvard,  the  thanks  of  the 
editor  are  due  for  their  kindness  in  reading  the  notes  to 
this  little  text-book  while  in  proof,  and  for  the  aid  of  some 
timely  suggestions  and  corrections. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Two  questions  confront  at  the  outset  the  editor  who 
attempts  the  preparation  of  a  text-book,  namely  :  What  is 
the  object  of  the  pursuit  of  this  study  ?  and,  By  what  means 
may  that  object  be  best  attained  ? 

English  as  a  requirement  for  admission  to  college  aims  at 
two  things.  The  first  of  these  is  that  the  pupil  shall  learn 
to  write  good  English.  The  papers  submitted  at  a  college 
entrance  examination  soon  reveal  that  among  these  aspirants 
for  scholastic  honors  and  the  certificate  of  a  liberal  educa- 
tion there  is  at  least  a  goodly  sprinkling  of  youths  whose 
work  may  almost  be  called  illiterate.  It  is  not  merely 
feeble  in  thought  and  crude  in  expression  ;  it  is  misspelled, 
unpunctuated,  slovenly  and  illegible,  and  at  times  downright 
ungrammatical.  No  college  instructor  needs  committees 
and  reports  to  inform  him  of  the  presence  of  such  men ; 
but  the  newspapers  and  the  outside  world  have  lately  been 
awakened  to  the  actual  condition  of  affairs,  and  the  publica- 
tion of  self-condemning  samples  of  undergraduate  composi- 
tion has  aided  powerfully  in  the  agitation  for  more  attention 
to  English  in  the  colleges  and  preparatory  course.  Boys 
who  cannot  spell  nor  write  respectably,  whose  sentences  do 
not  parse,  and  whose  written  application  for  a  position  in  a 
business  office  would  be  rejected  on  its  own  evidence  of  the 
unfitness  of  the  applicant,  had  better,  it  is  said,  spend  a  little 
less  time  in  the  study  of  Greek  and  Latin,  and  a  little  more 
in  learning  not  to  violate  the  ordinary  conventionalities  and 
proprieties  of  expression  in  their  own  mother  tongue. 


Vi  IN  TROD  UC  TION. 

But  it  is  easy  to  say  that  boys  are  to  be  taught  to  write 
good  English  ;  to  teach  them  that  desirable  art  is  a  very 
different  matter.  For  there  is  no  better  single  test  of  the 
intellectual  development  and  capacity  of  boy  or  man  than 
his  ability  to  write.  If  he  writes  well  it  is  because  he  thinks 
well ;  he  can  no  more  write  better  than  he  thinks  than  water 
can  rise  above  its  source.  He  may,  it  is  true,  for  a  time 
write  worse  than  he  thinks  ;  that  is  the  loss  by  friction. 
But  let  him  once  conquer  the  difficulty  of  an  unfamiliar 
avenue  ot  expression  and  his  writing  measures  him.  If  his 
thought  is  clear  and  vigorous,  his  vocabulary  —  indication 
of  the  range  of  his  intellectual  field  —  varied  and  under  his 
control,  his  mind  orderly  and  capable  of  grasping  complex 
relations,  then  his  style  will  be  good  ;  if,  in  addition,  his 
imagination  is  quick  and  his  feeling  fine,  he  will  add  a 
higher  quality  of  expression  ;  while  if  his  observation  is 
imperfect,  his  memory  weak,  his  ideas  hazy,  his  mental 
processes  slow  and  uncertain,  and  his  grasp  feeble,  —  so 
long  as  he  is  that  kind  of  boy  or  man,  no  power  on  earth, 
or  above  it,  can  teach  him  to  write. 

If  it  is  true  that  good  writing  means  good  thinking,  if 
command  and  power  of  expression  are  simply  the  manifes- 
tation of  command  and  power  of  thought,  then  the  ability  to 
write  is  the  result  of  all  education  rather  than  something  to 
be  taught  by  itself.  The  justification  of  the  introduction  of 
English  into  the  preparatory  school  is  not  at  all  that  by  its 
study  boys  may  learn  to  write  ;  nor  is  it  a  sufficient  criticism 
of  the  old  order  of  things  to  say  that  some  college  men  are 
illiterate  because  they  were  not  made  to  study  English  at 
school  and  pass  an  examination  in  English  before  entering; 
college.  If  they  write  badly  it  is  because  their  whole 
education  was  bad,  and  as  a  result  their  present  mental 
development  is  inferior.  If,  notwithstanding  that  fact,  they 
got    into    college    and   stay  there,  the   explanation    is    that 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

notwithstanding  their  inferiority  they  are  on  the  whole 
above  the  level  at  which  their  institution  of  learning  will 
send  them  away.  First  divisions  as  a  rule  write  well,  no 
matter  what  they  studied ;  it  is  the  illiterate,  reinforced  by 
the  lazy  and  the  bad,  who  hang  on  the  ragged  edge. 
English  —  English  worthy  of  the  name- — ^is  to  be  taught,  if 
it  is  to  be  taught  at  all,  not  because  it  teaches  expression, 
but  because  it  aids  development  ;  because  the  boy  who 
devotes  part  of  his  time  to  the  study  of  English  classics  is 
better  educated,  more  mature  or  well  rounded,  than  the  boy 
who  has  given  all  his  time  to  the  study  of  Latin  and  Greek 
classics  and  mathematics. 

h.  separate  entrance  requirement  in  English  as  a  test  of 
the  candidate's  ability  to  write  may,  by  diverting  our  atten- 
tion from  the  real  issue,  work  positive  harm.  As  a  partial 
recognition  of  the  importance  of  the  ability  it  is  a  step  in 
the  right  direction  ;  but  in  so  far  as  it  implies  that  this 
ability  is  to  be  tested  only  by  a  single  examination  and 
developed  by  a  particular  line  of  study,  it  is  altogether 
misleading.  Inability  to  write  is  an  impeachment  of  a 
school,  not  necessarily  of  a  single  master.  It  is  inconceiv- 
able that  a  boy  should  be  able  to  handle  an  involved  periodic 
sentence  on  his  Caesar  paper,  if  he  be  required,  that  is, 
genuinely  to  translate  it,  and  not  merely  to  give  an  inaccu- 
rate paraphrase,  misnamed  "  free  "'  translation,  in  which  the 
display  of  a  more  or  less  loose  knowledge  of  the  vocabulary 
enables  him  to  disguise  his  inability  to  comprehend  the 
thought  and  construction  —  and  then  go  to  pieces  when  put 
to  a  fair  test — when  asked  to  write  about  a  subject  he 
understands  —  on  his  English  paper.  The  pupil  who  learns 
to  arrange  his  algebraic  solution  so  that  the  eye  may  take  in 
at  a  glance  his  process  and  results,  whose  demonstrations 
in  geometry  train  him  to  be  methodical,  logical,  and  exact, 
is  preparing  for  his  English  examination  while  he  is  master- 


Vlll  IN  TROD  UC  TION. 

ing  his  mathematics.  The  truth  is  —  as  has  already  in 
effect  been  said — that  the  demand  for  better  training  in 
writing  English  in  the  preparatory  schools  is  simply  a 
demand  for  better  preparation,  for  minds  better  disciplined 
and  more  fully  developed.  The  logical  conclusion  is  that 
the  test  of  this  must  be  applied,  not  in  one  subject,  but  in 
all.  If  the  English  test  requires  a  maturity  a  year  beyond 
that  required  in  other  subjects  the  candidate  will  not  be 
kept  out  another  year ;  he  will  get  in  —  over  the  ruins  of 
the  barrier  that  the  defeated  English  examiner  attempted  to 
defend. 

Preparatory  school  English  is  in  danger  of  seeking  unas- 
sisted to  accomplish  too  much.  Its  scope  is  so  broad,  the 
instruments  which  it  puts  into  the  hands  of  the  skillful 
teacher  are  so  various,  that  it  may  be  made  the  means  of 
disciplining  almost  any  faculty  of  the  mind.  Through  the 
opportunities  which  it  affords  for  linguistic,  rhetorical,  and 
literary  training,  its  study  might  almost  answer  for  a  uni- 
versal education.  But  that  it  must  not  attempt.  It  must 
limit  its  field  ;  it  must  seek  out  as  its  peculiar  province  that 
part  of  education  which  is  comparatively  neglected  by  the  older 
studies,  and  which  it  is  peculiarly  qualified  to  accomplish. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  it  will  not  long  continue  to  be  held 
in  popular  opinion  responsible  for  all  the  shortcomings  of 
schoolboys  and  college  students  in  the  matter  of  written 
expression.  Every  preparatory  school  teacher  must  teach 
that  —  is  teaching  it  all  the  time,  whether  efficiently  or 
otherwise.  Every  written  examination  is  an  exercise  in  it ; 
every  translation  influences  it.  Even  the  conventions  and 
proprieties  of  written  expression  the  violation  of  which 
constitutes  illiteracy  must  be  enforced  in  all  departments  if 
much  is  to  be  accomplished.  A  boy  must  not  be  permitted 
to  misspell  and  ignore  punctuation  and  use  bad  grammar 
with  one  instructor  any  more  than  with  another. 


IN  TROD  UC  TION.  IX 

The  object  of  English  as  a  preparatory  study,  then,  is  not 
to  teach  unaided  and  as  its  peculiar  field  the  ability  to  write 
good  English,  though  it  has  been  said  that  the  acquisition 
of  this  ability  is  one  of  the  objects  of  the  examination  in 
English  as  a  college  entrance  requirement.  The  other 
object  aimed  at  by  that  requirement  is  that  the  pupil  shall 
learn  to  like  good  books.  And  here  we  find  the  true  and 
proper  field  of  English  teaching.  Greek  and  Latin,  formerly 
accepted  without  question  as  the  peculiar  instruments  for 
the  acquisition  of  liberal  culture  —  the  studies  once  called 
the  humanities,  have  now  partly  been  swamped  by  the 
growing  importance  of  modern  literature  and  history,  and 
partly  transformed  by  the  influence  of  German  scholarship 
and  the  scientific  spirit,  until  they  have  become  mainly  the 
means  of  mental  discipline  and  grammatical  and  linguistic 
drill.  Parnassus  is  now  climbed  for  the  resulting  benefit  to 
muscles  and  sinews  and  lungs,  and  the  ancient  Pegasus 
labors  among  the  dray-horses.  It  is  the  mantle  fallen^ 
from  the  classics  which  English  is  now  privileged  to  take 
up.  To  awaken  and  train  a  taste  for  good  literature,  to 
develop  the  aesthetic  side  of  the  youth,  to  sow  the  seeds  of 
what  may  ripen  into  refinement  and  elegance  and  culture  — 
here  is  the  opportunity  for  English,  and  herein  its  high 
claim  to  a  place  in  the  established  curriculum.  Whether  oj^ 
no  it  can  do  this  work  better  than  the  classics,  were  they 
taught  by  men  of  elegant  scholarship  and  culture  with  this 
end  in  view,  it  is  unnecessary  to  inquire.  They  are  not 
ordinarily  so  taught ;  they  do  not  attempt  the  work ;  and  it 
is  well  to  try  English  in  their  place. 

How  shall  we  teach  boys  to  like  good  books  ?  How 
educate  and  refine  their  taste  ?  How  teach  culture  ? 
Knowledge  can  be  taught  ;  but  culture  ?  Appreciation,  say 
some  of  our  critics,  is  inborn ;  denied  to  some  ;  •  in  others  a 
germ  late  fertilized,  giving  no  sign  of  life  until  school  days 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

are  long  past.  Is  not  sensibility  to  beauty  like  sensibility 
to  color,  a  matter  of  natural  endowment  ? 

It  must  be  admitted  that  in  the  average  schoolboy  the 
aesthetic  side  of  his  nature  is  not  highly  developed.  An 
English  classic  was  defined  at  a  recent  meeting  of  teachers 
in  New  England  as  a  work  which  the  ordinary  schoolboy  will 
read  with  pleasure,  and  never  forget.  If  by  this  is  meant 
that  he  will  attain  to  this  laudable  result  unaided,  either  the 
commonly  accepted  list  of  English  classics  must  suffer  some 
wonderful  expurgations  or  the  ordinary  schoolboy  does  not 
get  to  college.  The  writer  does  not  recognize  the  type. 
He  will  frankly  admit  his  inability  in  the  case  of  a  consider- 
able part  of  a  college  Sophomore  class  to  make  them  carry 
away  anything  more  than  an  intellectual  comprehension  of 
L' Allegro  —  and  even  that  impression  so  little  permanent 
as  to  invest  with  substantial  terrors  for  some  of  them  the 
prospect  of  an  examination  six  months  away.  It  is  not 
very  difficult  to  interest  college  underclassmen  in  the  Faerie 
Queene ;  but  it  is  ordinarily  for  the  story  or  the  allegory 
rather  than  the  Spenserian  beauty  of  the  language  or  the 
melody  of  the  verse.  Perhaps  most  of  the  boys  who  read 
the  Ancient  Mariner  for  the  entrance  examination  were 
moved  with  a  genuine  appreciation  of  its  poetry  ;  but  their 
papers  would  enrich  a  jest-book.  It  is  idle  to  shut  our  eyes 
to  the  fact  that  intellectual  curiosity  and  moral  enthusiasm 
usually  precede  in  the  process  of  development  the  faculty  of 
aesthetic  appreciation. 

The  first  and  greatest  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  school- 
boy's appreciation  of  literary  style  is  the  failure  to  compre- 
hend the  thought  in  all  its  fullness  and  suggestiveness.  A 
happy  epithet  or  poetic  phrase  must  be  caught  by  the  eye 
and  flashed  through  the  mind  before  it  can  kindle  the 
imagination.  Rapid  and  superficial  reading,  mainly  of 
fiction,  and  the  diffuse  abundance  of  the  newspaper  columns 


IN  TROD  UC  TION.  XI 

have  done  their  work,  and  the  boy  grasps  mainly  the  nouns 
and  verbs,  taking  in  the  main  idea  sufficiently  to  preserve 
the  thread  of  the  narrative,  but  without  receiving  any 
impression  from  the  lesser  words  that  contain  the  color  and 
clothe  the  thought  in  beauty.  Moreover,  the  artistic  effect- 
iveness of  language  is  due  not  merely  to  what  it  directly 
says,  but  also  to  what  it  suggests.  All  words  grow  richer 
for  us  every  da}^,  from  strengthened  associations  and  the 
perception  of  a  deeper  meaning.  The  boy  with  his  narrow 
experience  and  little  depth  of  thought,  finding  it  sufficiently 
difficult  to  grasp  the  first  meaning,  the  denotation  of  the 
word,  has  neither  mental  energy  nor  richness  of  feeling  to 
find  more  than  a  small  part  of  what  to  the  mature  mind  is 
really  there. 

As  the  deficiency  is  primarily  an  intellectual  one,  so  the 
remedy  is  to  be  found  in  stimulating  intellectual  activity. 
The  avenue  to  the  feelings  is  through  the  chambers  of  the 
mind,  whose  doors  are  closed  and  barred.  But  rightly 
touched  they  open  of  themselves.  Curiosity  is  as  natural 
to  the  healthy  boy's  mind  as  hunger  to  his  body,  y^sthetic 
feeling,  it  is  true,  we  cannot  directly  teach ;  we  cannot 
make  the  blind  see  ;  but  we  may  draw  the  curtains  from 
the  window  and  bid  the  child  look  out.  Most  boys  have 
not  had  their  eyes  opened,  that  is  all. 

English  in  the  schools  is  a  subject  to  be  studied,  not  read 
merely.  The  average  schoolboy  is  incapable  undirected  of 
reading  aright.  He  must  learn  a  new  method.  He  must 
try  so  far  as  possible  to  notice  every  word,  to  follow  out 
every  allusion,  to  leave  nothing  behind  him  that  he  does 
not  understand.  There  is,  of  course,  the  danger  that  under 
a  wooden  and  injudicious  teacher  the  work  may  become 
mechanical  and  irksome  ;  but  in  no  subject  is  there  less 
excuse  for  this  than  in  English.  Dull  work  is  hard  work  ; 
but  hard  work  need  not  be  dull.     The  teacher  who  cannot 


Xll  INTRODUCTION. 

get  more  work  and  more  willing  work  and  more  effective 
work  out  of  his  pupils  in  English  than  in  anything  else  has 
mistaken  his  profession. 

English  is  the  study  above  all  others  which  must  set  the 
pupil  to  thinking.  Thoughtfulness  one  would  expect  to 
find  the  supreme  and  distinguishing  characteristic  of  a 
college  community.  The  thoughtful  attitude  of  mind  may 
in  a  sense  be  called  the  test  of  a  liberal  education.  Yet  it 
is  astonishing  how  many  men  live  for  four  years  within 
college  walls  and  receive  their  degrees  at  the  end  who  have 
never  learned  to  think  for  themselves,  and  how  little  it  is 
true  that  the  college  atmosphere  is  necessarily  a  thoughtful 
atmosphere.  Opinions  are  too  often  the  result  of  environ- 
ment, of  inherited  principles  and  prejudices,  credulously 
accepted  and  blindly  defended.  Many  men  are  afraid  to 
think  ;  it  is  uncomfortable  business,  and  leads  no  one 
knows  whither  ;  better  rest  satisfied  with  the  opinions  and 
principles  and  beliefs  of  other  good  respectable  people  ; 
otherwise  you  will  probably  become  a  crank.  Now  if  a 
man  has  not  attained  to  the  thoughtful  attitude  of  mind  — 
has  not  learned  to  observe  and  ponder  and  judge  for 
himself,  and  to  be  fond  of  thinking,  before  he  leaves  college, 
it  is  not  likely  that  he  will  ever  learn  afterward.  But  it  is 
not  necessary  that  he  should  wait  until  he  gets  to  college 
before  he  begins  to  learn.  The  boy  who  is  interested  in 
books  and  reads  along  general  lines  will  grow  into  the 
thoughtful,  the  broadly  and  truly  educated  man.  The 
teacher  who  makes  his  pupils  thoughtful  confers  upon  them 
the  greatest  benefit  in  the  teacher's  power  to  bestow.  And 
what  for  this  purpose  can  compare  with  English  in  the 
opportunity  that  it  gives  ?  It  is  the  gateway  to  a  whole 
new  world  —  the  world  of  ideas,  the  world  in  which  one 
escapes  from  pettiness,  and  vulgarity,  and  prejudice,  and 
enters  the    freemasonry  of  high   and    noble    society.     Not 


INTRODUCTION.  Xlll 

that  it  is  by  any  means  the  only  gateway  ;  but  the  prepara- 
tory school  teacher  of  English  is  dealing  more  directly  with 
thought  in  its  application  to  life,  and  with  far  greater  variety 
and  range  of  thought,  than  the  teacher  of  any  other  subject. 
Literature  covers  the  whole  range  of  unspecialized  human 
activity.  Its  field  is  nature  and  life.  Novels,  essays,  poems 
to  be  taught,  their  thought  to  be  made  the  thought  of  the 
pupil,  and  all  the  wealth  of  illustration  and  figure  and 
suggestion  to  be  explored  —  how  can  literature  be  taught 
without  teaching  the  pupil  to  think? 

The  experienced  and  skillful  master  will  need  no  direc- 
tions how  to  make  effective  a  subject  so  rich  with  opportu- 
nity. But  the  introduction  of  English  into  the  college 
requirements  is  so  recent  that  it  has  not  found  a  method 
agreed  upon  in  general  outline  by  all  teachers  ;  each  must 
find  his  way  for  himself,  and  often  lose  precious  time  in 
experiment.  There  is  a  danger  which  confronts  editor  and 
teacher  alike.  It  is  that  he  may  do  too  much  of  the  work 
which  the  pupil,  if  he  is  to  receive  the  benefit,  must  do 
himself.  If  the  pupil  is  to  learn  to  think  he  must  form 
opinions,  not  learn  them.  At  every  step,  it  is  true,  ques- 
tions rise  before  him  which  he  cannot  settle  definitely  and 
finally  for  himself  for  years  ;  perhaps  can  never  settle  ;  yet 
he  ought  to  be  thinking  about  them.  His  curiosity  is 
continually  to  be  stimulated  and  awakened,  not  satisfied 
and  put  to  sleep.  He  should  be  taught  the  use  of  books  of 
reference,  too,  that  he  may  not  be  helpless  when  reading 
by  himself  with  texts  unannotated  for  the  convenience  of 
laziness  and  an  examination  cram.  And  on  the  other  hand, 
it  is  unnecessary  to  discuss  the  question  whether  it  would 
be  profitable  to  require  the  pupil  to  hunt  down  every 
allusion  for  himself,  since  it  is  manifestly  impossible  for 
him  to  do  so  and  cover  the  ground  which  the  college 
entrance  requircmiiU  di-mands.     His  master  or  his  notes 


XIV  INTRODUCTION, 

must  often  tell  him  what  he  needs  to  know  to  understand 
his  text,  not  merely  tell  him  where  to  look  to  find  that 
knowledge  for  himself. 

It  has  been  the  editor's  effort  in  preparing  this  little 
pamphlet  to  keep  in  view  the  practical  necessities  of  the 
case,  while  at  the  same  time  avoiding  the  Charybdis  of  that 
most  detestable  of  pseudo-educational  works—  a  device  for 
enabling  pupils  to  cram  sufficient  unassimilated  knowledge 
to  enable  them,  with  the  smallest  possible  expenditure  of 
energy  and  time,  to  pass  a  given  examination.  Much  has 
been  left  for  the  boy  or  girl  to  do,  and  much  for  the  discre- 
tion of  the  teacher  to  select,  expand,  or  omit.  There  is  no 
pretence  of  having  exhausted  the  possibilities  of  the  essay; 
it  has  been  attempted  only  to  suggest  some  of  the  ways  in 
which  it  may  be  employed  for  the  kind  of  teaching  which 
the  requirement  of  English  for  the  college  entrance  exami- 
nations was  intended  to  demand. 


MI  LTON 

{AUGUST,  1823.) 


Joannis  Milioni,  Angli,  de  Doctrina  Christiana  libri  duo  posthumi.  A 
Treatise  on  Christian  Doctrine,  compiled  from  the  Holy  Scriptures 
alone.  By  John  Milton,  translated  from  the  Original  by  Charles  R. 
Sumner,  M.A,,  etc.,  etc.:  1825. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  year  1823,  Mr.  Lemon,  deputy 
keeper  of  the  state-papers,  in  the  course  of  his  researches 
among  the  presses  of  his  office,  met  with  a  large  Latin 
manuscript.  With  it  were  found  corrected  copies  of 
the  foreign  despatches  written  by  Milton  while  he  filled 
the  office  of  Secretary,  and  several  papers  relating  to  the 
Popish  Trials  and  the  Rye-house  Plot.  The  whole  was 
wrapped  up  in  an  envelope,  superscribed  To  Mr.  Skinne?-, 
Merchant.  On  examination,  the  large  manuscript  proved 
to  be  the  long  lost  essay  on  the  doctrines  of  Christianity, 
which,  according  to  Wood  and  Toland,  Milton  finished 
after  the  Restoration,  and  deposited  with  Cyriac  Skinner. 
Skinner,  it  is  well  known,  held  the  same  political  opinions 
with  his  illustrious  friend.  It  is  therefore  probable,  as 
Mr.  Lemon  conjectures,  that  he  may  have  fallen  under 
the  suspicions  of  the  Government  during  that  persecution 
of  the  Whigs  which  followed  the  dissolution  of  the  Oxford 
Parliament,  and  that,  in  consequence  of  a  general  seizure 
of  his  papers,  this  work  may  have  been  brought  to  the 
office  in  which  it  has  been  found.  But  whatever  the 
adventures  of  the  manuscript  may  have  been,  no  doubt 
can  exist  that  it  is  a  genuine  relic  of  the  great  poet. 


2  MIL  TON. 

Mr.  Sumner,  who  was  commanded  by  his  majesty  to 
edit  and  translate  the  treatise,  has  acquitted  himself  of 
his  task  in  a  manner  honorable  to  his  talents  and  to  his 
character.  His  version  is  not  indeed  very  easy  or  elegant ; 
5  but  it  is  entitled  to  the  praise  of  clearness  and  fidelity. 
His  notes  abound  with  interesting  quotations,  and  have 
the  rare  merit  of  really  elucidating  the  text.  The  preface 
is  evidently  the  work  of  a  sensible  and  candid  man,  firm 
in  his  own  religious  opinions,  and  tolerant  toward  those 

lo  of  others. 

The  book  itself  will  not  add  much  to  the  fame  of 
Milton.  It  is,  like  all  his  Latin  works,  well  written, 
though  not  exactly  in  the  style  of  the  prize  essays  of 
Oxford  and  Cambridge.     There  is  no  elaborate  imitation 

15  of  classical  antiquity,  no  scrupulous  purity,  none  of  the 
ceremonial  cleanness  which  characterizes  the  diction  of 
our  academical  Pharisees.  The  author  does  not  attempt 
to  polish  and  brighten  his  composition  into  the  Ciceronian 
gloss   and   brilliancy.      He   does   not,   in    short,   sacrifice 

20  sense  and  spirit  to  pedantic  refinements.  The  nature  of 
his  subject  compelled  him  to  use  many  words 

"That  would  have  made  Quintilian  stare  and  gasp." 

But  he  writes  with  as  much  ease  and  freedom  as  if  Latin 

were  his  mother-tongue  ;   and,  where  he  is  least  happy, 
25  his  failure  seems  to  rise  from  the  carelessness  of  a  native, 

not  from  the  ignorance  of  a  foreigner.     We  may  apply  to 

him  what  Denham  with  great  felicity  says   of   Cowley. 

He  wears  the  garb,  but  not  the  clothes,  of  the  ancients. 
Throughout  the  volume  are  discernible  the  traces  of  a 
30  powerful  and  independent  mind,  emancipated  from  the 

influence  of  authority,  and  devoted  to  the  search  of  truth. 

Milton  professes  to  form  his  system  from  the  Bible  alone  ; 

and  his  digest  of  Scriptural  texts  is  certainly  among  the 


MILTON.  3 

best  that  have  appeared.     But  he  is  not  always  so  happy 
in  his  inferences  as  in  his  citations. 

Some  of  the  heterodox  doctrines  which  he  avows 
seemed  to  have  excited  considerable  amazement,  particu- 
larly his  Arianism,  and  his  theory  on  the  subject  of  5 
polygamy.  Yet  we  can  scarcely  conceive  that  any  person 
could  have  read  the  Paradise  Lost  without  suspecting 
him  of  the  former  ;  nor  do  we  think  that  any  reader 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  his  life  ought  to  be  much 
startled  at  the  latter.  The  opinions  which  he  has  ex-  10 
pressed  respecting  the  nature  of  the  Deity,  the  eternity  of 
matter,  and  the  observation  of  the  Sabbath,  might,  we 
think,  have  caused  more  just  surprise. 

But  we  will  not  go  into  the  discussion  of  these  points. 
The  book,  were  it  far  more  orthodox  or  far  more  heretical  15 
than  it  is,  would  not  much  edify  or  corrupt  the  present 
generation.    The  men  of  our  time  are  not  to  be  converted 
or  perverted  by   quartos.     A  few  more   days,  and  this 
essay  will   follow  the   Defensio  Fopidi  to   the   dust   and 
silence  of  the  upper  shelf.     The  name  of  its  author,  and  20 
the  remarkable  circumstances  attending  its  publication, 
will  secure  to  it  a  certain  degree  of  attention.     For  a 
month  or  two  it  will  occupy  a  few  minutes   of  chat  in 
every  drawing-room,  and  a  few  columns  in   every  maga- 
zine ;   and  it  will  then,  to  borrow  the  elegant  language  of  25 
the  play-bills,  be  withdrawn,  to  make  room  for  the  forth- 
coming novelties. 

We  wish,  however,  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  interest, 
transient  as  it  may  be,  which  this  work  has  excited.  The 
dexterous  Capuchins  never  choose  to  preach  on  the  life  30 
and  miracles  of  a  saint  till  they  have  awakened  the  de- 
votional feelings  of  their  auditors  by  exhibiting  some  relic 
of  him  —  a  thread  of  his  garment,  a  lock  of  his  hair,  or  a 
drop  of  his  blood.     On  the  same  principle,  we  intend  to 


4  MILTON. 

take  advantage  of  the  late  interesting  discovery,  and, 
while  this  memorial  of  a  great  and  good  man  is  still  in 
the  hands  of  all,  to  say  something  of  his  moral  and  intel- 
lectual qualities.  Nor,  we  are  convinced,  will  the  severest 
5  of  our  readers  blame  us  if,  on  an  occasion  like  the  present, 
we  turn  for  a  short  time  from  the  topics  of  the  day  to 
commemorate,  in  all  love  and  reverence,  the  genius  and 
virtues  of  John  Milton,  the  poet,  the  statesman,  the 
philosopher,  the  glory  of  English  literature,  the  champion 

10  and  the  martyr  of  English  liberty. 

It  is  by  his  poetry  that  Milton  is  best  known  ;  and  it 
is  of  his  poetry  that  we  wish  first  to  speak.  By  the  gen- 
eral suffrage  of  the  civilized  world,  his  place  has  been 
assigned   among  the  greatest   masters   of  the   art.     His 

15  detractors,  however,  though  outvoted,  have  not  been 
silenced.  There  are  many  critics,  and  some  of  great 
name,  who  contnVe  in  the  same  breath  to  extol  the 
poems  and  to  decry  the  poet.  The  works,  they  acknowl- 
edge, considered  in  themselves,  may  be  classed  among 

20  the  noblest  productions  of  the  human  mind.  But  they 
will  not  allow  the  author  to  rank  with  those  great  men 
who,  born  in  the  infancy  of  civilization,  supplied,  by  their 
own  powers,  the  want  of  instruction,  and,  though  destitute 
of    models    themselves,  bequeathed   to   posterity  models 

25  which  defy  imitation.  Milton,  it  is  said,  inherited  what 
his  predecessors  created  ;  he  lived  in  an  enlightened  age  ; 
he  received  a  finished  education  ;  and  we  must  therefore, 
if  we  would  form  a  just  estimate  of  his  powers,  make  large 
deductions  in  consideration  of  these  advantages. 

30  We  venture  to  say,  on  the  contrary,  paradoxical  as  the 
remark  may  appear,  that  no  poet  has  ever  had  to  struggle 
with  more  unfavorable  circumstances  than  Milton.  He 
doubted,  as  he  has  himself  owned,  whether  he  had  not 
been  born  "an  age  too  late."     For  this  notion  Johnson 


MIL  TON.  5 

has  thought  fit  to  make  him  the  butt  of  much  dumsy 
ridicule.  The  poet,  we  beUeve,  understood  the  nature  of 
his  art  better  than  the  critic.  He  knew  that  his  poetical 
genius  derived  no  advantage  from  the  civilization  which 
surrounded  him,  or  from  the  learning  which  he  had  ac-  5 
quired ;  and  he  looked  back  with  something  like  regret 
to  the  ruder  age  of  simple  words  and  vivid  impressions. 

We  think  that,  as  civilization  advances,  poetry  almost 
necessarily  declines.  Therefore,  though  we  fervently 
admire  those  great  works  of  imagination  which  have  10 
appeared  in  dark  ages,  we  do  not  admire  them  the  more 
because  they  have  appeared  in  dark  ages.  On  the  con- 
trary, we  hold  that  the  most  wonderful  and  splendid 
proof  of  genius  is  a  great  poem  produced  in  a  civilized 
age.  We  cannot  understand  why  those  who  believe  in  15 
that  most  orthodox  article  of  literary  faith,  that  the  earli- 
est poets  are  generally  the  best,  should  wonder  at  the 
rule  as  if  it  were  the  exception.  Surely  the  uniformity  of 
the  phenomenon  indicates  a  corresponding  uniformity  in 
the  cause.  20 

The  fact  is,  that  common  observers  reason  from  the 
progress  of  the  experimental  sciences  to  that  of  the  imi- 
tative arts.  The  improvement  of  the  former  is  gradual 
and  slow.  Ages  are  spent  in  collecting  materials,  ages 
more  in  separating  and  combining  them.  Even  when  a  25 
system  has  been  formed,  there  is  still  something  to  add, 
to  alter,  or  to  reject.  Every  generation  enjoys  the  use 
of  a  vast  hoard  bequeathed  to  it  by  antiquity,  and  trans- 
mits that  hoard,  augmented  by  fresh  acquisitions,  to 
future  ages.  In  these  pursuits,  therefore,  the  first  specu-  30 
lators  lie  under  great  disadvantages,  and,  even  when  they 
fail,  are  entitled  to  praise.  Their  pupils,  with  far  inferior 
mtellectual  powers,  speedily  surpass  them  in  actual  attain- 
ments.    Every  girl   who  has   read   Mrs.    Marcet's   little 


6  MILTON. 

dialogues  on  political  economy  could  teach  Montague  or 
Walpole  many  lessons  in  finance.  Any  intelligent  man 
may  now,  by  resolutely  applying  himself  for  a  few  years 
to  mathematics,  learn  more  than  the  great  Newton  knew^^i^jj: 

5  after  half  a  century  of  study  and  meditation.  —1^ 

But  it  is  not  thus  with  music,  with  painting,  or  with 

sculpture.     Still  less  is  it  thus  with  poetry.    The  progress 

of  refinement  rarely  supplies  these  arts  with  better  objects 

of  imitation.     It   may  indeed   improve   the   instruments 

10  which  are  necessary  to  the  mechanical  operations  of  the 
musician,  the  sculptor,  and  the  painter.  But  language, 
the  machine  of  the  poet,  is  best  fitted  for  his  purpose  in 
its  rudest  state.  Nations,  like  individuals,  first  perceive, 
and  then  abstract.     They  advance  from  particular  images 

15  to  general  terms.  Hence  the  vocabulary  of  an  enlight- 
ened society  is  philosophical,  that  of  a  half-civilized 
people  is  poetical. 

This  change  in  the  language  of  men  is  partly  the  cause 
and  partly  the  effect  of  a  corresponding  change  in  the 

20  nature  of  their  intellectual  operations,  of  a  change  by 
which  science  gains  and  poetry  loses.  Generalization  is 
necessary  to  the  advancement  of  knowledge  ;  but  particu- 
larity is  indispensable  to  the  creations  of  the  imagination. 
In  proportion  as  men  know  more  and  think  more,  they 

25  look  less  at  individuals  and  more  at  classes.  They  there- 
fore make  better  theories  and  worse  poems.  They  give 
us  vague  phrases  instead  of  images,  and  personified 
qualities  instead  of  men.  They  may  be  better  able  to 
analyze    human    nature    than    their   predecessors.       But 

30  analysis  is  not  the  business  of  the  poet.  His  office  is  to 
portray,  not  to  dissect.  He  may  believe  in  a  moral  sense, 
like  Shaftesbury ;  he  may  refer  all  human  actions  to 
self-interest,  like  Helvetius  ;  or  he  may  never  think  about 
the  matter  at  all.     His  creed  on  such  subjects  will  no 


MIL  TON.  7 

more  influence  his  poetry,  properly  so  called,  than  the 
notions  which  a  painter  may  have  conceived  respecting 
the  lachrymal  glands,  or  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  will 
affect  the  tears  of  his  Niobe,  or  the  blushes  of  his  Aurora. 
If  Shakspeare  had  written  a  book  on  the  motives  of  hu-  5 
man  actions,  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  it  would  have 
been  a  good  one.  It  is  extremely  improbable  that  it  would 
have  contained  half  so  much  able  reasoning  on  the  sub- 
ject as  is  to  be  found  in  the  Fable  of  the  Bees.  But  could 
Mandeville  have  created  an  lago.?  Well  as  he  knew  how  10 
to  resolve  characters  into  their  elements,  would  he  have 
been  able  to  combine  those  elements  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  make  up  a  man  —  a  real,  living,  individual  man  ? 

Perhaps  no  person  can  be  a  poet,  or  can  even  enjoy 
poetry,  without  a  certain  unsoundness  of  mind,  if  any-  15 
thing  which  gives  so  much  pleasure  ought  to  be  called 
unsoundness.       By   poetry  we   mean   not   all   writing   in 
verse,  nor  even  all  good  writing  in  verse.     Our  definition 
excludes   many   metrical    compositions   which,   on    other 
grounds,  deserve  the  highest  praise.     By  poetry  we  mean  20 
the  art  of  employing  words  in  such  a  manner  as  to  pro- 
duce an  illusion  on  the  imagination,  the  art  of  doing  by 
means  of  words  what  the  painter  does  by  means  of  colors. 
Thus  the  greatest  of  poets  has  described  it,  in  lines  uni- 
versally admired  for  the  vigor  and  felicity  of  their  diction,  25 
and  still  more  valuable   on   account  of  the  just  notion 
which  they  convey  of  the  art  in  which  he  excelled : 

"  As  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing  30 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name." 

These  are  the  fruits  of  the  "  fine  frenzy "  which  he 
ascribes  to  the  poet  —  a  fine  frenzy,  doubtless,  but  still  a 
frenzy.     Truth,  indeed,  is  essential  to  poetry ;   but  it  is 


8  MIL  TON. 

the  truth  of  madness.  The  reasonings  are  just ;  but  the 
premises  are  false.  After  the  first  suppositions  have 
been  made,  everything  ought  to  be  consistent ;  but  those 
first  suppositions  require  a  degree  of  credulity  which 
5  almost  amounts  to  a  partial  and  temporary  derangement 
of  the  intellect.  Hence  of  all  people  children  are  the 
most  imaginative.  They  abandon  themselves  without 
reserve  to  every  illusion.  Every  image  which  is  strongly 
presented  to  their  mental  eye  produces  on  them  the  effect 

lo  of  reality.  No  man,  whatever  his  sensibility  may  be,  is 
ever  affected  by  Hamlet  or  Lear  as  a  little  girl  is  affected 
by  the  story  of  poor  Red  Riding-hood.  She  knows  that 
it  is  all  false,  that  wolves  cannot  speak,  that  there  are 
no  wolves  in  England.  Yet,  in  spite  of  her  knowledge, 
15  she  believes;  she  weeps;  she  trembles;  she  dares  not 
go  into  a  dark  room  lest  she  should  feel  the  teeth  of  the 
monster  at  her  throat.  Such  is  the  despotism  of  the 
imagination  over  uncultivated  minds. 

In  a  rude  state  of  society,  men  are  children  with   a 

20  greater  variety  of  ideas.  It  is  therefore  in  such  a  state 
of  society  that  we  may  expect  to  find  the  poetical  tempera- 
ment in  its  highest  perfection.  In  an  enlightened  age 
there  will  be  much  intelligence,  much  science,  much 
philosophy,  abundance  of  just  classification   and  subtle 

25  analysis,  abundance  of  wit  and  eloquence,  abundance  of 
verses,  and  even  of  good  ones  ;  but  little  poetry.  Men 
will  judge  and  compare  ;  but  they  will  not  create.  They 
will  talk  about  the  old  poets,  and  comment  on  them,  and 
to  a  certain  degree  enjoy  them.      But  they  will  scarcely 

30  be  able  to  conceive  the  effect  which  poetry  produced  on 
their  ruder  ancestors,  the  agony,  the  ecstasy,  the  pleni- 
tude of  belief.  The  Greek  rhapsodists,  according  to 
Plato,  could  scarce  recite  Homer  without  falling  into 
convulsions.      The    Mohawk   hardly  feels   the   scalping- 


MIL  TON.  9 

knife  while  he  shouts  his  death-song.  The  power  which 
the  ancient  bards  of  Wales  and  Germany  exercised  over 
their  auditors  seems  to  modern  readers  almost  miraculous. 
Such  feelings  are  very  rare  in  a  civilized  community,  and 
most  rare  among  those  who  participate  most  in  its  im-  5 
provements.     They  linger  longest  among  the  peasantry. 

Poetry  produces  an  illusion  on  the  eye  of  the  mind,  as 
a  magic  lantern  produces  an  illusion  on  the  eye  of  the 
body.  And,  as  the  magic  lantern  acts  best  in  a  dark 
room,  poetry  effects  its  purpose  most  completely  in  a  dark  10 
age.  As  the  light  of  knowledge  breaks  in  upon  its  exhibi- 
tions, as  the  outlines  of  certainty  become  more  and  more 
definite,  and  the  shades  of  probability  more  and  more 
distinct,  the  hues  and  lineaments  of  the  phantoms  which 
the  poet  calls  up  grow  fainter  and  fainter.  We  cannot  15 
unite  the  incompatible  advantages  of  reality  and  decep- 
tion, the  clear  discernment  of  truth  and  the  exquisite 
enjoyment  of  fiction. 

He  who,  in  an  enlightened  and  literary  society,  aspires 
to  be  a  great  poet,  must  first  become  a  little  child.  He  20 
must  take  to  pieces  the  whole  web  of  his  mind.  He  must 
unlearn  much  of  that  knowledge  which  has  perhaps  con- 
stituted hitherto  his  chief  title  to  superiority.  His  very 
talents  will  be  a  hinderance  to  him.  His  difficulties  will 
be  proportioned  to  his  proficiency  in  the  pursuits  which  25 
are  fashionable  among  his  contemporaries ;  and  that  pro- 
ficiency will  in  general  be  proportioned  to  the  vigor  and 
activity  of  his  mind.  And  it  is  well  if,  after  all  his  sacri- 
fices and  exertions,  his  works  do  not  resemble  a  lisping 
man  or  a  modern  ruin.  We  have  seen  in  our  own  time  30 
great  talents,  intense  labor,  and  long  meditation  employed 
in  this  struggle  against  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  employed, 
we  will  not  say  absolutely  in  vain,  but  with  dubious  suc- 
cess and  feeble  applause, 


lO  MILTON. 

If  these  reasonings  be  just,  no  poet  has  ever  triumphed 
over  greater  difficulties  than  Milton.  He  received  a 
learned  education :  he  was  a  profound  and  elegant  classi- 
cal scholar  :  he  had  studied  all  the  mysteries  of  rabbinical 

5  literature :  he  was  intimately  acquainted  with  every  lan- 
guage in  modern  Europe  from  which  either  pleasure  or 
information  was  then  to  be  derived.  He  was  perhaps 
the  only  poet  of  later  times  who  has  been  distinguished 
by  the   excellence   of  his   Latin   verse.     The  genius   of 

10  Petrarch  was  scarcely  of  the  first  order ;  and  his  poems 
in  the  ancient  language,  though  much  praised  by  those 
who  have  never  read  them,  are  wretched  compositions. 
Cowley,  with  all  his  admirable  wit  and  ingenuity,  had 
little  imagination  :    nor,  indeed,  do  we  think  his  classical 

15  diction  comparable  to  that  of  Milton.  The  authority  of 
Johnson  is  against  us  on  this  point.  But  Johnson  had 
studied  the  bad  writers  of  the  Middle  Ages  till  he  had 
become  utterly  insensible  to  the  Augustan  elegance,  and 
was  as  ill  qualified  to  judge  between  two  Latin  styles  as 

20  an  habitual  drunkard  to  set  up  for  a  wine-taster. 

Versification  in  a  dead  language  is  an  exotic,  a  far- 
fetched, costly,  sickly  imitation  of  that  which  elsewhere 
may  be  found  in  healthful  and  spontaneous  perfection. 
The  soils  on  which  this  rarity  flourishes  are  in  general  as 

25  ill  suited  to  the  production  of  vigorous  native  poetry  as 
the  flower-pots  of  a  hot-house  to  the  growth  of  oaks. 
That  the  author  of  the  Paradise  Lost  should  have  written 
the  epistle  to  Manso  was  truly  wonderful.  Never  before 
were  such  marked  originality  and  such  exquisite  mimicry 

30  found  together.  Indeed,  in  all  the  Latin  poems  of  Milton 
the  artiiicial  manner  indispensable  to  such  works  is  ad- 
mirably preserved,  while,  at  the  same  time,  his  genius 
gives  to  them  a  peculiar  charm,  an  air  of  nobleness  and 
freedom,  which  distinguishes  them  from  all  other  writings 


MIL  TON.  I  I 

of  the  same  class.  They  remind  us  of  the  amusements 
of  those  angelic  warriors  who  composed  the  cohort  of 
Gabriel : 

"  About  him  exercised  heroic  games 
The  unarmed  youth  of  heaven.     But  o'er  their  heads  5 

Celestial  armory,  shield,  helm,  and  spear, 
Hung  high,  with  diamond  flaming  and  with  gold." 

We  cannot  look  upon  the  sportive  exercises  for  which 
the  genius  of  Milton  ungirds  itself  without  catching  a 
glimpse  of  the  gorgeous  and  terrible  panoply  which  it  is  10 
accustomed  to  wear.  The  strength  of  his  imagination 
triumphed  over  every  obstacle.  So  intense  and  ardent 
was  the  fire  of  his  mind,  that  it  not  only  was  not  suffo- 
cated beneath  the  weight  of  fuel,  but  penetrated  the 
whole  superincumbent  mass  with  its  own  heat  and  15 
radiance. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  attempt  anything  like  a  com- 
plete examination  of  the  poetry  of  Milton.  The  public 
has  long  been  agreed  as  to  the  merit  of  the  most  remark- 
able passages,  the  incomparable  harmony  of  the  numbers,  20 
and  the  excellence  of  that  style  which  no  rival  has  been 
able  to  equal  and  no  parodist  to  degrade ;  which  displays 
in  their  highest  perfection  the  idiomatic  powers  of  the  Eng- 
lish tongue,  and  to  which  every  ancient  and  every  modern 
language  has  contributed  something  of  grace,  of  energy,  25 
or  of  music.  In  the  vast  field  of  criticism  on  which  we 
are  entering,  innumerable  reapers  have  already  put  their 
sickles.  Yet  the  harvest  is  so  abundant  that  the  negligent 
search  of  a  straggling  gleaner  may  be  rewarded  with  a 
sheaf.  30 

The  most  striking  characteristic  of  the  poetry  of  Milton 
is  the  extreme  remoteness  of  the  associations  by  means 
of  which  it  acts  on  the  reader.  Its  effect  is  produced, 
not  so  much  by  what  it  expresses,  as  by  what  it  suggests ; 


1 2  MIL  TON. 

not  so  much  by  the  ideas  which  it  directly  conveys, 
as  by  other  ideas  which  are  connected  with  them.  He 
electrifies  the  mind  through  conductors.  The  most  un- 
imaginative  man   must    understand   the   I/iad.      Homer 

5  gives  him  no  choice,  and  requires  from  him  no  exertion, 
but  takes  the  whole  upon  himself,  and  sets  the  images 
in  so  clear  a  light  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  blind  to 
them.  The  works  of  Milton  cannot  be  comprehended 
or  enjoyed   unless   the   mind    of   the    reader    co-operate 

10  with  that  of  the  writer.  He  does  not  paint  a  finished 
picture,  or  play  for  a  mere  passive  listener.  He  sketches, 
and  leaves  others  to  fill  up  the  outline.  He  strikes 
the  key-note,  and  expects  his  hearer  to  make  out  the 
melody. 

15  We  often  hear  of  the  magical  influence  of  poetry.  The 
expression  in  general  means  nothing ;  but,  applied  to  the 
writings  of  Milton,  it  is  most  appropriate.  His  poetry 
acts  like  an  incantation.  Its  merit  lies  less  in  its  obvious 
meaning  than  in  its  occult  power.     There  would  seem,  at 

20  first  sight,  to  be  no  more  in  his  words  than  in  other  words. 
But  they  are  words  of  enchantment.  No  sooner  are  they 
pronounced,  than  the  past  is  present  and  the  distant  near. 
New  forms  of  beauty  start  at  once  into  existence,  and 
all  the  burial-places  of  the  memory  give  up  their  dead. 

25  Change   the  structure  of  the   sentence  ;    substitute   one 
synonyme  for  another,  and  the  whole  efi'ect  is  destroyed.j 
The  spell  loses  its  power ;    and  he  who  should  then  hope 
to  conjure  with  it  would  find  himself  as  much  mistaken  as 
Cassim  in  the  Arabian  tale,  when  he  stood  crying  "  Open 

30  Wheat,"  "Open  Barley,"  to  the  door  that  obeyed  no 
sound  but  "Open  Sesame."  The  miserable  failure  of 
Dryden  in  his  attempt  to  translate  into  his  own  diction 
some  parts  of  the  Paradise  Lost  is  a  remarkable  instance 
of  this. 


MIL  TON.  I  3 

In  support  of  these  observations,  we  may  remark  that 
scarcely  any  passages  in  the  poems  of  Milton  are  more 
generally  known  or  more  frequently  repeated  than  those 
which  are  little  more  than  muster-rolls  of  names.  They 
are  not  always  more  appropriate  or  more  melodious  than  5 
other  names.  But  they  are  charmed  names.  Every  one 
of  them  is  the  first  link  in  a  long  chain  of  associated 
ideas.  Like  the  dwelling-place  of  our  infancy  revisited 
in  manhood,  like  the  song  of  our  country  heard  in  a 
strange  land,  they  produce  upon  us  an  effect  wholly  10 
independent  of  their  intrinsic  value.  One  transports  us 
back  to 'a  remote  period  of  history.  Another  places  us 
among  the  novel  scenes  and  manners  of  a  distant  region. 
A  third  evokes  all  the  dear  classical  recollections  of 
childhood,  the  school-room,  the  dog-eared  Virgil,  the  15 
holiday,  and  the  prize.  A  fourth  brings  before  us  the 
splendid  phantoms  of  chivalrous  romance,  the  trophied 
lists,  the  embroidered  housings,  the  quaint  devices,  the 
haunted  forests,  the  enchanted  gardens,  the  achievements 
of  enamored  knights,  and  the  smiles  of  rescued  princesses.  20 

In  none  of  the  works  of  Milton  is  his  peculiar  manner 
more  happily  displayed  than  in  the  Allegro  and  the  Pe?i- 
seroso.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  that  the  mechanism 
of  language  can  be  brought  to  a  more  exquisite  degree  of 
perfection.  These  poems  differ  from  others  as  ottar  of  25 
roses  differs  from  ordinary  rose-water,  the  close-packed 
essence  from  the  thin,  diluted  mixture.  They  are,  indeed, 
not  so  much  poems  as  collections  of  hints,  from  each  of 
which  the  reader  is  to  make  out  a  poem  for  himself. 
Every  epithet  is  a  text  for  a  stanza.  30 

The  Comiis  and  the  Samson  Agonistes  are  works  which, 
though  of  very  different  merit,  offer  some  marked  points 
of  resemblance.  Both  are  _lyri^.p,Qems.  in  the  form  of 
plays.     There  are  perhaps  no  two  kinds  of  composition 


14  MILTON. 

SO  essentially  dissimilar  as  the  drama  and  the  ode.  The 
business  of  the  dramatist  is  to  keep  himself  out  of  sight, 
and  to  let  nothing  appear  but  his  characters.  As  soon 
as  he  attracts  notice  to  his  personal  feelings,  the  illusion 

5  is  broken.  The  effect  is  as  unpleasant  as  that  which  is 
produced  on  the  stage  by  the  voice  of  a  prompter  or  the 
entrance  of  a  scene-shifter.  Hence  it  was  that  the 
tragedies  of  Byron  were  his  least  successful  performances. 
They  resemble  those  pasteboard  pictures  invented  by  the 

10  friend  of  children,  Mr.  Newbery,  in  which  a  single  mov- 
able head  goes  round  twenty  different  bodies,  so  that  the 
same  face  looks  out  upon  us  successively,  from  the  uni- 
form of  a  hussar,  the  furs  of  a  judge,  and  the  rags  of  a 
beggar.     In  all  the  characters,  patriots  and  tyrants,  haters 

15  and  lovers,  the  frown  and  sneer  of  Harold  were  discern- 
ible in  an  instant.  But  this  species  of  egotism,  though 
fatal  to  the  drama,  is  the  inspiration  of  the  ode.  It  is 
the  part  of  the  lyric  poet  to  abandon  himself,  without 
reserve,  to  his  own  emotions. 

20  Between  these  hostile  elements  many  great  men  have 
endeavored  to  effect  an  amalgamation,  but  never  with 
complete  success.  The  Greek  drama,  on  the  model  of 
which  the  Samsoji  was  written,  sprang  from  the  ode. 
The  dialogue  was  ingrafted  on  the  chorus,  and  naturally 

25  partook  of  its  character.  The  genius  of  the  greatest  of 
the  Athenian  dramatists  co-operated  with  the  circum- 
stances under  which  tragedy  made  its  first  appearance. 
T^^schylus  was,  head  and  heart,  a  lyric  poet.  In  his  time, 
the  Greeks  had  far  more  intercourse  with  the  East  than 

30  in  the  days  of  Homer  ;  and  they  had  not  yet  acquired 
that  immense  superiority  in  war,  in  science,  and  in  the 
arts,  which,  in  the  following  generation,  led  them  to  treat 
the  Asiatics  with  contempt.  From  the  narrative  of 
Herodotus  it  should  seem  that  they  still  looked  up,  with 


MIL  TON.  I  5 

the  veneration  of  disciples,  to  Egypt  and  Assyria.  At 
this  period,  accordingly,  it  was  natural  that  the  literature 
of  Greece  should  be  tinctured  with  the  Oriental  style. 
And  that  style,  we  think,  is  discernible  in  the  works  of 
Pindar  and  ^schylus.  The  latter  often  reminds  us  of  5 
the  Hebrew  writers.  The  Book  of  Job,  indeed,  in  con- 
duct and  diction,  bears  a  considerable  resemblance  to 
some  of  his  dramas.  Considered  as  plays,  his  works  are 
absurd ;  considered  as  choruses,  they  are  above  all  praise. 
If,  for  instance,  we  examine  the  address  of  Clytaemnestra  10 
to  Agamemnon  on  his  return,  or  the  description  of  the 
seven  Argive  chiefs,  by  the  principles  of  dramatic  writing, 
we  shall  instantly  condemn  them  as  monstrous.  But  if 
we  forget  the  characters,  and  think  only  of  the  poetry,  we 
shall  admit  that  it  has  never  been  surpassed  in  energy  15 
and  magnificence.  Sophocles  made  the  Greek  drama  as 
dramatic  as  was  consistent  with  its  original  form.  His 
portraits  of  men  have  a  sort  of  similarity ;  but  it  is  the 
similarity,  not  of  a  painting,  but  of  a  bass-relief.  It  sug- 
gests a  resemblance ;  but  it  does  not  produce  an  illusion.  20 
Euripides  attempted  to  carry  the  reform  further.  But  it 
was  a  task  far  beyond  his  powers,  perhaps  beyond  any 
powers.  Instead  of  correcting  what  was  bad,  he  destroyed 
what  was  excellent.  He  substituted  crutches  for  stilts, 
bad  sermons  for  good  odes.  25 

Milton,  it  is  well  known,  admired  Euripides  highly, 
much  more  highly  than,  in  our  opinion,  Euripides  deserved. 
Indeed,  the  caresses  which  this  partiality  leads  our 
countryman  to  bestow  on  "  sad  Electra's  poet  "  sometimes 
remind  us  of  the  beautiful  Queen  of  Fairy-land  kissing  30 
the  long  ears  of  Bottom.  At  all  events,  there  can  be 
no  doubt  that  this  veneration  for  the  Athenian,  whether 
just  or  not,  was  injurious  to  the  SauisoJi  Agonistes.  Had 
Milton  taken  ^schylus  for  his  model,  he  would  have 


1 6  MIL  TON. 

given  himself  up  to  the  lyric  inspiration,  and  poured  out 
profusely  all  the  treasures  of  his  mind,  without  bestowing 
a  thought  on  those  dramatic  proprieties  which  the  nature 
of  the  work  rendered  it  impossible  to  preserve.  In  the 
5  attempt  to  reconcile  things  in  their  own  nature  incon- 
sistent he  has  failed,  as  every  one  else  must  have  failed. 
We  cannot  identify  ourselves  with  the  characters,  as  in 
a  good  play.  We  cannot  identify  ourselves  with  the 
poet,  as  in  a  good  ode.     The  conflicting  ingredients,  like 

10  an  acid  and  an  alkali  mixed,  neutralize  each  other.  We 
are  by  no  means  insensible  to  the  merits  of  this  celebrated 
piece,  to  the  severe  dignity  of  the  style,  the  graceful  and 
pathetic  solemnity  of  the  opening  speech,  or  the  wild 
and  barbaric   melody  which  gives   so   striking  an  effect 

15  to  the  choral  passages.  But  we  think  it,  we  confess, 
the  least  successful  effort  of  the  genius  of  Milton. 

The    Comics   is   framed   on   the    model   of   the   Italian 
Masque,  as  the  Samson_\s  ir-Simed  on  the  model  of  the_ 
Greek  Tragedy.     It  is  certainly  the  noblest  performance 

20  of  the  kind  which  exists  in  any  language.  It  is  as  far 
superior  to  The  Faithful  Shepherdess,  as  The  Faithful 
Shepherdess  is  to  the  Aminta,  or  the  Aminta  to  the  Pastor 
Fido.  It  was  well  for  Milton  that  he  had  here  no 
Euripides   to   mislead   him.      He   understood   and    loved 

25  the  literature  of  modern  Italy.  But  he  did  not  feel  for 
it  the  same  veneration  which  he  entertained  for  the 
remains  of  Athenian  and  Roman  poetry,  consecrated  by 
so  many  lofty  and  endearing  recollections.  The  faults, 
moreover,  of  his  Italian  predecessors  were  of  a  kind  to 

30  which  his  mind  had  a  deadly  antipathy.  He  could  stoop 
to  a  plain  style,  sometimes  even  to  a  bald  style;  but 
false  brilliancy  was  his  utter  aversion.  His  muse  had 
no  objection  to  a  russet  attire;  but  she  turned  with 
disgust  from  the  finery  of  Guarini,   as  tawdry  and   as 


MIL  TON.  I  7 

paltry  as  the  rags  of  a  chimney-sweeper  on  May-day. 
Whatever  ornaments  she  wears  are  of  massive  gold,  not 
only  dazzling  to  the  sight,  but  capable  of  standing  the 
severest  test  of  the  crucible. 

Milton  attended  in  the  Co7nus  to  the  distinction  which  5 
he  afterward  neglected  in  the  Samson.  He  made  his 
Masque  what  it  ought  to  be,  essentially  lyrical,  and 
dramatic  only  in  semblance.  He  has  not  attempted  a 
fruitless  struggle  against  a  defect  inherent  in  the  nature 
of  that  species  of  composition;  and  he  has  therefore  10 
succeeded,  wherever  success  was  not  impossible.  The 
speeches  must  be  read  as  majestic  soliloquies;  and  he 
who  so  reads  them  will  be  enraptured  with  their  eloquence, 
their  sublimity,  and  their  music.  The  interruptions  of 
the  dialogue,  however,  impose  a  constraint  upon  the  15 
writer,  and  break  the  illusion  of  the  reader.  The  finest 
passages  are  those  which  are  lyric  in  form  as  well  as  in 
spirit.  "  I  should  much  commend,"  says  the  excellent 
Sir  Henry  Wotton  in  a  letter  to  Milton,  "the  tragical 
part  if  the  lyrical  did  not  ravish  me  with  a  certain  20 
Dorique  delicacy  in  your  songs  and  odes,  whereunto,  I 
must  plainly  confess  to  you,  I  have  seen  yet  nothing 
parallel  in  our  language."  The  criticism  was  just.  It 
is  when  Milton  escapes  from  the  shackles  of  the  dialogue, 
when  he  is  discharged  from  the  labor  of  uniting  two  25 
incongruous  styles,  when  he  is  at  liberty  to  indulge  his 
choral  raptures  without  reserve,  that  he  rises  even  above 
himself.  Then,  like  his  own  good  Genius  bursting  from 
the  earthly  form  and  weeds  of  Thyrsis,  he  stands  forth 
in  celestial  freedom  and  beauty;  he  seems  to  cry  exult-  30 

"  Now  my  task  is  smoothly  done, 
I  can  fly  or  I  can  run," 

to  skim  the  earth,   to  soar   above   the   clouds,  to  bathe 


1 8  MILTON. 

in  the  Elysian  dew  of  the  rainbow,  and  to  inhale  the 
balmy  smells  of  nard  and  cassia,  which  the  musky  winds 
of  the  zephyr  scatter  through  the  cedared  alleys  of  the 
Hesperides. 

5  There  are  several  of  the  minor  poems  of  Milton  on 
which  we  would  willingly  make  a  few  remarks.  Still 
more  willingly  would  we  enter  into  a  detailed  examina- 
tion of  that  admirable  poem,  the  Paradise  Regained., 
which,    strangely    enough,    is    scarcely    ever    mentioned 

lo  except  as  an  instance  of  the  blindness  of  the  parental 
affection  which  men  of  letters  bear  toward  the  offspring 
of  their  intellects.  That  Milton  was  mistaken  in  pre- 
ferring this  work,  excellent  as  it  is,  to  the  Paradise  Lost, 
we  readily  admit.      But  we  are  slire  that  the  superiority 

15  of  the  Paradise  Lost  to  the  Paradise  Regained  is  not  more 
decided  than  the  superiority  of  the  Paradise  Regained  to 
every  poem  which  has  since  made  its  appearance.  Our 
limits,  however,  prevent  us  from  discussing  the  point  at 
length.     We  hasten  on  to  that  extraordinary  production 

20  which  the  general  suffrage  of  critics  has  placed  in  the 
highest  class  of  human  compositions. 

The  only  poem  of  modern  times  which  can  be  com- 
pared with  the  Paradise  Lost  is  the  Dii'ine  Comedy. 
The  subject  of  Milton,   in  some  points,  resembled  that 

25  of  Dante;  but  he  has  treated  it  in  a  widely  different 
manner.  We  cannot,  we  think,  better  illustrate  our 
opinion  respecting  our  own  great  poet  than  by  contrasting 
him  with  the  father  of  Tuscan  literature. 

The   poetry  of   Milton  differs  from  that  of   Dante  as 

30  the  hieroglyphics  of  Egypt  differed  from  the  picture-writing 
of  Mexico.  The  images  which  Dante  employs  speak 
for  themselves;  they  stand  simply  for  what  they  are. 
Those  of  Milton  have  a  signification  which  is  often 
discernible  only  to  the  initiated.     Their  value  depends 


MILTON.  19 

less  on  what  they  directly  represent  than  on  what  they 
remotely  suggest.  However  strange,  however  grotesque, 
may  be  the  appearance  which  Dante  undertakes  to 
describe,  he  never  shrinks  from  describing  it.  He  gives 
us  the  shape,  the  color,  the  sound,  the  smell,  the  taste;  5 
he  counts  the  numbers;  he  measures  the  size.  His 
similes  are  the  illustrations  of  a  traveller.  Unlike  those 
of  other  poets,  and  especially  of  Milton,  they  are  intro- 
duced in  a  plain,  business-like  manner;  not  for  the  sake 
of  any  beauty  in  the  objects  from  which  they  are  drawn;  10 
not  for  the  sake  of  any  ornament  which  they  may  impart 
to  the  poem;  but  simply  in  order  to  make  the  meaning 
of  the  writer  as  clear  to  the  reader  as  it  is  to  himself. 
The  ruins  of  the  precipice  which  led  from  the  sixth  to 
the  seventh  circle  of  hell  were  like  those  of  the  rock  15 
which  fell  into  the  Adige  on  the  south  of  Trent.  The 
cataract  of  Phlegethon  was  like  that  of  Aqua  Cheta  at 
the  Monastery  of  St.  Benedict.  The  place  where  the 
heretics  were  confined  in  burning  tombs  resembled  the 
vast  cemetery  of  Aries.  20 

Now  let  us  compare  with  the  exact  details  of  Dante 
the  dim  intimations  of  Milton.  We  will  cite  a  few 
examples.  The  English  poet  has  never  thought  of  taking 
the  measure  of  Satan.  He  gives  us  merely  a  vague  idea 
of  vast  bulk.  In  one  passage  the  fiend  lies  stretched  25 
out  huge  in  length,  floating  many  a  rood,  equal  in  size 
to  the  earth-born  enemies  of  Jove,  or  to  the  sea-monster 
which  the  mariner  mistakes  for  an  island.  When  he 
addresses  himself  to  battle  against  the  guardian  angels 
he  stands  like  Teneriffe  or  Atlas:  his  stature  reaches  30 
the  sky.  Contrast  with  these  descriptions  the  lines 
in  which  Dante  has  described  the  gigantic  spectre  of 
Nimrod.  "  His  face  seemed  to  me  as  long  and  as  broad 
as  the  ball  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome;  and  his  other  limbs 


20  MILTON. 

were  in  proportion;  so  that  the  bank,  which  concealed 
him  from  the  waist  downwards,  nevertheless  showed  so 
much  of  him  that  three  tall  Germans  would  in  vain  have 
attempted  to  reach  to  his  hair."  We  are  sensible  that 
5  we  do  no  justice  to  the  admirable  style  of  the  Florentine 
poet.  But  Mr.  Gary's  translation  is  not  at  hand;  and 
our  version,  however  rude,  is  sufficient  to  illustrate  our 
meaning. 

Once  more,  compare  the  lazar-house  in  the  eleventh 

10  book  of  the  Paradise  Lost  with  the  last  ward  of  Malebolge 
in  Dante.  Milton  avoids  the  loathsome  details,  and 
takes  refuge  in  indistinct  but  solemn  and  tremendous 
imagery  —  Despair  hurrying  from  couch  to  couch  to  mock 
the  wretches  with  his  attendance.  Death  shaking  his  dart 

15  over  them,  but,  in  spite  of  supplications,  delaying  to 
strike.  What  says  Dante  .'*  "  There  was  such  a  moan 
there  as  there  would  be  if  all  the  sick  who,  between  July 
and  September,  are  in  the  hospitals  of  Valdichiana,  and 
of  the  Tuscan  swamps,  and  of  Sardinia,  were  in  one  pit 

20  together;  and  such  a  stench  was  issuing  forth  as  is  wont 
to  issue  from  decayed  limbs." 

We  will  not  take  upon  ourselves  the  invidious  office  of 
settling  precedency  between  two  such  writers.  Each  in 
his  own  department  is  incomparable;  and  each,  we  may 

25  remark,  has  wisely,  or  fortunately,  taken  a  subject 
adapted  to  exhibit  his  peculiar  talent  to  the  greatest 
advantage.  The  Divine  Co??iedy  is  a  personal  narrative. 
Dante  is  the  -eye-witness  and  ear-witness  of  that  which 
he    relates.      He    is    the  very  man   who    has    heard   the 

30  tormented  spirits  crying  out  for  the  second  death,  who 
has  read  the  dusky  characters  on  the  portal  within 
which  there  is  no  hope,  who  has  hidden  his  face  from 
the  terrors  of  the  Gorgon,  who  has  fled  from  the  hooks 
and  the  seething  pitch  of  Barbariccia  and  Draghignazzo. 


MILTON.  21 

His  own  hands  have  grasped  the  shaggy  sides  of  Lucifer. 
His  own  feet  have  climbed  the  mountain  of  expiation.  His 
own  brow  has  been  marked  by  the  purifying  angel.  The 
reader  would  throw  aside  such  a  tale  in  incredulous 
disgust,  unless  it  were  told  with  the  strongest  air  of  5 
veracity,  with  a  sobriety  even  in  its  horrors,  with  the 
greatest  precision  and  multiplicity  in  its  details.  The 
narrative  of  Milton  in  this  respect  differs  from  that  of 
Dante  as  the  adventures  of  Amadis  differ  from  those  of 
Gulliver.  The  author  of  Amadis  would  have  made  his  10 
book  ridiculous  if  he  had  introduced  those  minute  partic- 
ulars which  give  such  a  charm  to  the  work  of  Swift,  the 
nautical  observations,  the  affected  delicacy  about  names, 
the  official  documents  transcribed  at  full  length,  and  all 
the  unmeaning  gossip  and  scandal  of  the  court,  springing  15 
out  of  nothing,  and  tending  to  nothing.  We  are  not 
shocked  at  being  told  that  a  man  who  lived,  nobody  knows 
when,  saw  many  very  strange  sights,  and  we  can  easily 
abandon  ourselves  to  the  illusion  of  the  romance.  But 
when  Lemuel  Gulliver,  surgeon,  resident  at  Rotherhithe,  20 
tells  us  of  pigmies  and  giants,  flying  islands,  and  philoso- 
phizing horses,  nothing  but  such  circumstantial  touches 
could  produce  for  a  single  moment  a  deception  on  the 
imagination. 

Of  all  the  poets  who  have  introduced  into  their  works  25 
the  agency  of  supernatural  beings,  Milton  has  succeeded 
best.  Here  Dante  decidedly  yields  to  him:  and  as  this  is 
a  point  on  which  many  rash  and  ill-considered  judgments 
have  been  pronounced,  we  feel  inclined  to  dwell  on  it  a 
little  longer.  The  most  fatal  error  which  a  poet  can  30 
possibly  commit  in  the  management  of  his  machinery  is 
that  of  attempting  to  philosophize  too  much.  Milton 
has  been  often  censured  for  ascribing  to  spirits  many 
functions    of    which    spirits    must    be    incapable.      But 


22  MILTON. 

these  objections,  though  sanctioned  by  eminent  names, 
originate,  we  venture  to  say,  in  profound  ignorance  of 
the  art  of  poetry. 

What  is  spirit  ?     What  are  our  own  minds,  the  portion 

5  of  spirit  with  which  we  are  best  acquainted  ?  We  observe 
certain  phenomena.  We  cannot  explain  them  into 
material  causes.  We  therefore  infer  that  there  exists 
something  which  is  not  material.  But  of  this  something 
we  have  no  idea.     We  can  define  it  only  by  negatives. 

lo  W^e  can  reason  about  it  only  by  symbols.  We  use  the 
word,  but  we  have  no  image  of  the  thing ;  and  the 
business  of  poetry  is  with  images,  and  not  with  words. 
The  poet  uses  words,  indeed;  but  they  are  merely  the 
instruments   of  his   art,  not   its   objects.     They  are   the 

15  materials  which  he  is  to  dispose  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
present  a  picture  to  the  mental  eye.  And  if  they  are 
not  so  disposed,  they  are  no  more  entitled  to  be  called 
poetry  than  a  bale  of  canvas  and  a  box  of  colors  to  be 
called  a  painting. 

20  Logicians  may  reason  about  abstractions.  But  the 
great  mass  of  men  must  have  images.  The  strong 
tendency  of  the  multitude  in  all  ages  and  nations  to 
idolatry  can  be  explained  on  no  other  principle.  The 
first   inhabitants   of   Greece,  there  is  reason  to  believe, 

25  worshipped  one  invisible  Deity.  But  the  necessity  of 
having  something  more  definite  to  adore  produced,  in 
a  few  centuries,  the  innumerable  crowd  of  gods  and 
goddesses.  In  like  manner  the  ancient  Persians  thought 
it   impious  to  exhibit  the  creator  under  a  human  form. 

30  Yet  even  these  transferred  to  the  sun  the  worship  which, 
in  speculation,  they  considered  due  only  to  the  Supreme 
Mind.  The  history  of  the  Jews  is  the  record  of  a 
continued  struggle  between  pure  Theism,  supported  by 
the  mort  terrible  sanctions,  and  the  strangely  fascinating 


MILTON.  23 

desire  of  having  some  visible  and  tangible  object  of 
adoration.  Perhaps  none  of  the  secondary  causes  which 
Gibbon  has  assigned  for  the  rapidity  with  which  Chris- 
tianity spread  over  the  world,  while  Judaism  scarcely 
ever  acquired  a  proselyte,  operated  more  powerfully  than  5 
this  feeling.  God,  the  uncreated,  the  incomprehensible, 
the  invisible,  attracted  few  worshippers.  A  philosopher 
might  admire  so  noble  a  conception;  but  the  crowd 
turned  away  in  disgust  from  words  which  presented  no 
image  to  their  minds.  It  was  before  Deity  embodied  in  10 
a  human  form,  walking  among  men,  partaking  of  their 
infirmities,  leaning  on  their  bosoms,  weeping  over  their 
graves,  slumbering  in  the  manger,  bleeding  on  the  cross, 
that  the  prejudices  of  the  Synagogue,  and  the  doubts  of 
the  Academy,  and  the  pride  of  the  Portico,  and  the  15 
fasces  of  the  Lictor,  and  the  swords  of  thirty  legions, 
were  humbled  in  the  dust.  Soon  after  Christianity  had 
achieved  its  triumph,  the  principle  which  had  assisted  it 
began  to  corrupt  it.  It  became  a  new  paganism.  Patron 
saints  assumed  the  offices  of  household  gods.  St.  George  20 
took  the  place  of  Mars.  St.  Elmo  consoled  the  mariner 
for  the  loss  of  Castor  and  Pollux.  The  Virgin  Mother 
and  Cecilia  succeeded  to  Venus  and  the  Muses.  The 
fascination  of  sex  and  loveliness  was  again  joined  to  that 
of  celestial  dignity;  and  the  homage  of  chivalry  was  25 
blended  with  that  of  religion.  Reformers  have  often 
made  a  stand  against  these  feelings;  but  never  with 
more  than  apparent  and  partial  success.  The  men  who 
demolished  the  images  in  cathedrals  have  not  always 
been  able  to  demolish  those  wWch  were  enshrined  in  30 
their  minds.  It  would  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  in 
politics  the  same  rule  holds  good.  Doctrines,  we  are 
afraid,  must  generally  be  embodied  before  they  can 
excite  a  strong  public  feeling.     The  multitude  is  more 


24  MIL  TON. 

easily  interested  for  the  most  unmeaning  badge,  or  the 
most  insignificant  name,  than  for  the  most  important 
principle. 

From  these  considerations,  we  infer  that  no  poet 
5  who  should  affect  that  metaphysical  accuracy  for  the 
want  of  which  Milton  has  been  blamed  would  escape  a 
disgraceful  failure.  Still,  however,  there  was  another 
extreme  which,  though  far  less  dangerous,  was  also  to 
be  avoided.     The  imaginations  of   men    are   in  a  great 

lo  measure  under  the  control  of  their  opinions.  The  most 
exquisite  art  of  poetical  coloring  can  produce  no  illusion 
when  it  is  employed  to  represent  that  which  is  at  once 
perceived  to  be  incongruous  and  absurd.  Milton  wrote 
in    an    age    of    philosophers    and     theologians.      It   was 

15  necessary,  therefore,  for  him  to  abstain  from  giving 
such  a  shock  to  their  understandings  as  might  break 
the  charm  which  it  was  his  object  to  throw  over  their 
imaginations.  This  is  the  real  explanation  of  the 
indistinctness   and    inconsistency  with    which   which   he 

20  has  often  been  reproached.  Dr.  Johnson  acknowledges 
that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  the  spirit  should  be 
clothed  with  material  forms.  "But,"  says  he,  "the  poet 
should  have  secured  the  consistency  of  his  system  by 
keeping    immateriality    out   of    sight,   and    seducing  the 

25  reader  to  drop  it  from  his  thoughts."  This  is  easily 
said;  but  what  if  Milton  could  not  seduce  his  readers  to 
drop  immateriality  from  their  thoughts  .'*  What  if  the 
contrary  opinion  had  taken  so  full  a  possession  of  the 
minds  of  men  as   to   leave   no  room  even   for  the  half- 

30  belief  which  poetry  requires  ?  Such  we  suspect  to  have 
been  the  case.  It  was  impossible  for  the  poet  to  adopt 
altogether  the  material  or  the  immaterial  system.  He 
therefore  took  his  stand  on  the  debatable  ground. 
He  left  the  whole  in  ambiguity.     He  has  doubtless,  by 


AfIL  TON. 


25 


SO  doing,  laid  himself  open  to  the  charge  of  inconsist- 
ency. But,  though  philosophically  in  the  wrong,  we 
cannot  but  believe  that  he  was  poetically  in  the  right. 
This  task,  which  almost  any  other  writer  would  have 
found  impracticable,  was  easy  to  him.  The  peculiar  art  5 
which  he  possessed  of  communicating  his  meaning 
circuitously  through  a  long  succession  of  associated 
ideas,  and  of  intimating  more  than  he  expressed, 
enabled  him  to  disguise  those  incongruities  which  he 
could  not  avoid.  10 

Poetry  which  relates  to  the  beings  of  another  world 
ought  to  be  at  once  mysterious  and  picturesque.  That 
of  Milton  is  so.  That  of  Dante  is  picturesque,  indeed, 
beyond  any  that  ever  was  written.  Its  effect  approaches 
to  that  produced  by  the  pencil  or  the  chisel.  But  it  is  15 
picturesque  to  the  exclusion  of  all  mystery.  This  is  a 
fault  on  the  right  side,  a  fault  inseparable  from  the  plan 
of  Dante's  poem,  which,  as  we  have  already  observed, 
rendered  the  utmost  accuracy  of  description  necessary. 
Still  it  is  a  fault.  The  supernatural  agents  excite  an  20 
interest ;  but  it  is  not  the  interest  which  is  proper  to 
supernatural  agents.  We  feel  that  we  could  talk  to  the 
ghosts  and  demons  without  any  emotion  of  unearthly 
awe.  We  could,  like  Don  Juan,  ask  them  to  supper,  and 
eat  heartily  in  their  company.  Dante's  angels  are  good  25 
men  with  wings.  His  devils  are  spiteful,  ugly  execu- 
tioners. His  dead  men  are  merely  living  men  in  strange 
situations.  The  scene  which  passes  between  the  poet 
and  Farinata  is  justly  celebrated.  Still,  Farinata  in  the 
burning  tomb  is  exactly  what  Farinata  would  have  been  30 
at  an  auto-da-fe.  Nothing  can  be  more  touching  than  the 
first  interview  of  Dante  and  Beatrice.  Yet  what  is  it  but 
a  lovely  woman  chiding,  with  sweet,  austere  composure, 
the  lover  for  whose  affection  she  is  grateful,  but  whose 


26  MILTON. 

vices  she  reprobates  ?  The  feelings  which  give  the  pas- 
sage its  charm  would  suit  the  streets  of  Florence  as  well 
as  the  summit  of  the  Mount  of  Purgatory. 

The  spirits  of  Milton  are  unlike  those  of  almost  all 
5  other  writers.  His  fiends,  in  particular,  are  wonderful 
creations.  They  are  not  metaphysical  abstractions.  They 
are  not  wicked  men.  They  are  not  ugly  beasts.  They 
have  no  horns,  no  tails,  none  of  the  fee-faw-fum  of  Tasso 
and  Klopstock.     They  have  just  enough  in  common  with 

lo  human  nature  to  be  intelligible  to  human  beings.  Their 
characters  are,  like  their  forms,  marked  by  a  certain  dim 
resemblance  to  those  of  men,  but  exaggerated  to  gigantic 
dimensions,  and  veiled  in  mysterious  gloom. 

Perhaps  the  gods  and  demons  of  ^schylus  may  best 

r5  bear  a  comparison  with  the  angels  and  devils  of  Milton. 
The  style  of  the  Athenian  had,  as  we  have  remarked, 
something  of  the  Oriental  character ;  and  the  same  pecu- 
liarity may  be  traced  in  his  mythology.  It  has  nothing 
of  the  amenity  and  elegance  which  we  generally  find  in 

20  the  superstitions  of  Greece.  All  is  rugged,  barbaric,  and 
colossal.  The  legends  of  v^schylus  seem  to  harmonize 
less  with  the  fragrant  groves  and  graceful  porticos  in 
which  his  countrymen  paid  their  vows  to  the  God  of 
Light  and  Goddess  of  Desire  than  with  those  huge  and 

25  grotesque  labyrinths  of  eternal  granite  in  which  Egypt 
enshrined  her  mystic  Osiris,  or  in  which  Hindostan  still 
bows  down  to  her  seven-headed  idols.  His  favorite  gods 
are  those  of  the  elder  generation,  the  sons  of  heaven  and 
earth,  compared  with  whom  Jupiter  himself  was  a  strip- 

30  ling  and  an  upstart,  the  gigantic  Titans,  and  the  inexor- 
able F\iries.  Foremost  among  his  creations  of  this  class 
stands  Prometheus,  half  fiend,  half  redeemer,  the  friend  of 
man,  the  sullen  and  implacable  enemy  of  heaven.  Pro- 
metheus bears  undoubtedly  a  considerable  resemblance 


Af/LTOX.  27 

to  the  Satan  of  Milton.  In  both  we  find  the  same  impa- 
tience of  control,  the  same  ferocity,  the  same  unconquera- 
ble pride.  In  both  characters  also  are  mingled,  though  in 
very  different  proportions,  some  kind  and  generous 
feelings.  Prometheus,  however,  is  hardly  superhuman  5 
enough.  He  talks  too  much  of  his  chains  and  his  uneasy 
posture  :  he  is  rather  too  much  depressed  and  agitated. 
His  resolution  seems  to  depend  on  the  knowledge  which 
he  possesses  that  he  holds  the  fate  of  his  torturer  in  his 
hands,  and  that  the  hour  of  his  release  will  surely  come.  10 
But  Satan  is  a  creature  of  another  sphere.  The  might  of 
his  intellectual  nature  is  victorious  over  the  extremity  of 
pain.  Amidst  agonies  which  cannot  be  conceived  with- 
out horror,  he  deliberates,  resolves,  and  even  exults. 
Against  the  sword  of  Michael,  against  the  thunder  of  15 
Jehovah,  against  the  flaming  lake,  and  the  marl  burning 
with  solid  fire,  against  the  prospect  of  an  eternity  of 
unintermitted  misery,  his  spirit  bears  up  unbroken,  rest- 
ing on  its  own  innate  energies,  requiring  no  support  from 
anything  external,  nor  even  from  hope  itself.  20 

To  return  for  a  moment  to  the  parallel  which  we  have 
been  attempting  to  draw  between  Milton  and  Dante,  we 
would  add  that  the  poetry  of  these  great  men  has  in  a 
considerable  degree  taken  its  character  from  their  moral 
qualities.  They  are  not  egotists.  They  rarely  obtrude  25 
their  idiosyncrasies  on  their  readers.  They  have  nothing 
in  common  with  those  modern  beggars  for  fame  who  ex- 
tort a  pittance  from  the  compassion  of  the  inexperienced 
by  exposing  the  nakedness  and  sores  of  their  minds.  Yet 
it  would  be  difficult  to  name  two  writers  whose  works  30 
have  been  more  completely,  though  undesignedly,  colored 
by  their  personal  feelings. 

The  character  of  Milton  was  peculiarly  distinguished 
by  loftiness  of  spirit ;  that  of  Dante  by  intensity  of  feeling. 


28  MILTON. 

In  every  line  of  the  Divine  Comedy  we  discern  the  asperity 
which  is  produced  by  pride  struggling  with  misery.  There 
is  perhaps  no  work  in  the  world  so  deeply  and  uniformly 
sorrowful.  The  melancholy  of  Dante  was  no  fantastic 
5  caprice.  It  was  not,  as  far  as  at  this  distance  of  time 
can  be  judged,  the  effect  of  external  circumstances.  It 
was  from  within.  Neither  love  nor  glory,  neither  the 
conflicts  of  earth  nor  the  hope  of  heaven,  could  dispel  it. 
It  turned  every  consolation   and  every  pleasure  into  its 

lo  own  nature.  It  resembled  that  noxious  Sardinian  soil  of 
which  the  intense  bitterness  is  said  to  have  been  per- 
ceptible even  in  its  honey.  His  mind  was,  in  the  noble 
language  of  the  Hebrew  poet,  "  a  land  of  darkness,  as 
darkness  itself,  and  where  the  light  was  as  darkness." 

15  The  gloom  of  his  character  discolors  all  the  passions  of 
men,  and  all  the  face  of  nature,  and  tinges  with  its  own 
livid  hue  the  flowers  of  Paradise  and  the  glories  of  the 
eternal  throne.  All  the  portraits  of  him  are  singularly 
characteristic.      No    person    can    look    on    the    features, 

20  noble    even   to    ruggedness  —  the    dark   furrows   of    the 

cheek,  the  haggard  and  woful  stare  of  the  eye,  the  sullen 

and  contemptuous  curve  of  the  lip  —  and  doubt  that  they 

belong  to  a  man  too  proud  and  too  sensitive  to  be  happy. 

Milton  was,  like  Dante,  a  statesman  and  a  lover  ;  and, 

25  like  Dante,  he  had  been  unfortunate  in  ambition  and  in 
love.  He  had  survived  his  health  and  his  sight,  the 
comforts  of  his  home,  and  the  prosperity  of  his  party. 
Of  the  great  men  by  whom  he  had  been  distinguished  at 
his  entrance  into   life,  some   had  been   taken  away  from 

30  the  evil  to  come  ;  some  had  carried  into  foreign  climates 
their  unconquerable  hatred  of  oppression ;  some  were 
pining  in  dungeons  ;  and  some  had  poured  forth  their 
blood  on  scaffolds.  Venal  and  licentious  scribblers,  with 
just  sufficient  talent  to  clothe  the  thoughts  of  a  pander  in 


MIL  TON.  29 

the  style  of  a  bellman,  were  now  the  favorite  writers  of 
the  Sovereign  and  of  the  public.  It  was  a  loathsome 
herd,  which  could  be  compared  to  nothing  so  fitly  as  to 
the  rabble  of  Co?niis,  grotesque  monsters,  half  bestial, 
half  human,  dropping  with  wine,  bloated  with  gluttony,  5 
and  reeling  in  obscene  dances.  Amidst  these  that  fair 
Muse  was  placed,  like  the  chaste  lady  of  the  Masque, 
lofty,  spotless,  and  serene,  to  be  chattered  at,  and  pointed 
at,  and  grinned  at,  by  the  whole  rout  of  Satyrs  and 
Goblins.  If  ever  despondency  and  asperity  could  be  10 
excused  in  any  man,  they  might  have  been  excused  in 
Milton.  But  the  strength  of  his  mind  overcame  every 
calamity.  Neither  blindness,  nor  gout,  nor  age,  nor 
penury,  nor  domestic  afflictions,  nor  political  disappoint- 
ments, nor  abuse,  nor  proscription,  nor  neglect,  had  15 
power  to  disturb  his  sedate  and  majestic  patience.  His 
spirits  do  not  seem  to  have  been  high,  but  they  were 
singularly  equable.  His  temper  was  serious,  perhaps 
stern ;  but  it  was  a  temper  which  no  sufferings  could 
render  sullen  or  fretful.  Such  as  it  was  when,  on  the  20 
eve  of  great  events,  he  returned  from  his  travels,  in  the 
prime  of  health  and  manly  beauty,  loaded  with  literary 
distinctions,  and  glowing  with  patriotic  hopes,  such  it 
continued  to  be  when,  after  having  experienced  every 
calamity  which  is  incident  to  our  nature,  old,  poor,  25 
sightless,  and  disgraced,  he  retired  to  his  hovel  to  die. 

Hence  it  was  that,  though  he  wrote  the  Paradise  Lost 
at  a  time  of  life  when  images  of  beauty  and  tenderness 
are  in  general  beginning  to  fade,  even  from  those  minds 
in  which  they  have  not  been  effaced  by  anxiety  and  dis-  30 
appointment,  he  adorned  it  with  all  that  is  most  lovely 
and  delightful  in  the  physical  and  in  the  moral  world. 
Neither  Theocritus  nor  Ariosto  had  a  finer  or  a  more 
healthful  sense  of  the  pleasantness  of  external  objects,  or 


30  MIL  TON. 

loved  better  to  luxuriate  amidst  sunbeams  and  flowers, 
the  songs  of  nightingales,  the  juice  of  summer  fruits,  and 
the  coolness  of  shady  fountains.  His  conception  of  love 
unites  all  the  voluptuousness  of  the  Oriental  harem,  and 
5  all  the  gallantry  of  the  chivalric  tournament,  with  all  the 
pure  and  quiet  affection  of  an  English  fireside.  His 
poetry  reminds  us  of  the  miracles  of  Alpine  scenery. 
Nooks  and  dells,  beautiful  as  fairy-land,  are  embosomed 
in  its  most  rugged  and  gigantic  elevations.    The  roses  and 

10  myrtles  bloom  unchilled  on  the  verge  of  the  avalanche. 

Traces,  indeed,   of   the   peculiar   character  of    Milton 

may  be  found  in  all  his  works;  but  it  is   most  strongly 

displayed  in  the  Sormets.     Those  remarkable  poems  have 

been  undervalued    by  critics  who   have   not  understood 

15  their  nature.  They  have  no  epigrammatic  point.  There 
is  none  of  the  ingenuity  of  Filicaja  in  the  thought,  none 
of  the  hard  and  brilliant  enamel  of  Petrarch  in  the 
style.  They  are  simple  but  majestic  records  of  the 
feelings  of  the  poet;  as  little  tricked  out  for  the  public 

20  eye  as  his  diary  would  have  been.  A  victory,  an 
expected  attack  upon  the  city,  a  momentary  fit  of 
depression  or  exultation,  a  jest  thrown  out  against  one 
of  his  books,  a  dream  which  for  a  short  time  restored  to 
him  that  beautiful  face  oyer  which  the  grave  had  closed 

25  forever,  led  him  to  musings,  which,  without  effort, 
shaped  themselves  into  verse.  The  unity  of  sentiment 
and  severity  of  style  which  characterize  these  little 
pieces  remind  us  of  the  Greek  Anthology,  or  perhaps 
still  more  of  the  Collects  of  the  English  Liturgy.     The 

30  noble  poem  on  the  massacres  of  Piedmont  is  strictly 
a  collect  in  verse. 

The  Sonnets  are  more  or  less  striking,  according  as  the 
occasions  which   gave   birth   to   them   are   more   or   less 
But    they   are,    almost   without    exception. 


MIL  TON.  3  I 

dignified  by  a  sobriety  and  greatness  of  mind  to  which 
we  know  not  where  to  look  for  a  parallel.  It  would, 
indeed,  be  scarcely  safe  to  draw  any  decided  inferences 
as  to  the  character  of  a  writer  from  passages  directly 
egotistical.  But  the  qualities  which  we  have  ascribed  to  5 
Milton,  though  perhaps  most  strongly  marked  in  those 
parts  of  his  works  which  treat  of  his  personal  feelings, 
are  distinguishable  in  every  page,  and  impart  to  all  his 
writings,  prose  and  poetry,  English,  Latin,  and  Italian, 
a  strong  family  likeness.  10 

His  public  conduct  was  such  as  was  to  be  expected 
from  a  man  of  spirit  so  high  and  of  an  intellect  so 
powerful.  He  lived  at  one  of  the  most  memorable  eras 
in  the  history  of  mankind,  at  the  very  crisis  of  the  great 
conflict  between  Oromasdes  and  Arimanes,  liberty  and  15 
despotism,  reason  and  prejudice.  That  great  battle  was 
fought  for  no  single  generation,  for  no  single  land.  The 
destinies  of  the  human  race  were  staked  on  the  same 
cast  with  the  freedom  of  the  English  people.  Then 
were  first  proclaimed  those  mighty  principles  which  have  20 
since  worked  their  way  into  the  depths  of  the  American 
forests,  which  have  roused  Greece  from  the  slavery  and 
degradation  of  two  thousand  years,  and  which,  from  one 
end  of  Europe  to  the  other,  have  kindled  an  unquench- 
able fire  in  the  hearts  of  the  oppressed,  and  loosed  the  25 
knees  of  the  oppressors  with  an  unwonted  fear. 

Of  those  principles,  then  struggling  for  their  infant 
existence,  Milton  was  the  most  devoted  and  eloquent 
literary  champion.  We  need  not  say  how  much  we 
admire  his  public  conduct.  But  we  cannot  disguise  30 
from  ourselves  that  a  large  portion  of  his  countrymen 
still  think  it  unjustifiable.  The  civil  war,  indeed,  has 
been  more  discussed,  and  is  less  understood,  than  any 
event  in  English  history.     The  friends  of  liberty  labored 


32 


MIL  TON. 


under  the  disadvantage  of  which  the  lion  in  the  fable 
complained  so  bitterly.  Though  they  were  the  con- 
querors, their  enemies  were  the  painters.  As  a  body, 
the  Roundheads  had  done  their  utmost  to  decry  and  ruin 

5  literature;  and  literature  was  even  with  them,  as,  in  the 
long  run,  it  always  is  with  its  enemies.  The  best  book 
on  their  side  of  the  question  is  the  charming  narrative  of 
Mrs.  Hutchinson.  May's  History  of  the  ParUamcut  is 
good;  but  it  breaks  off  at  the  most  interesting  crisis  of 

10  the  struggle.  The  performance  of  Ludlow  is  foolish  and 
violent;  and  most  of  the  later  writers  who  have  espoused 
the  same  cause  —  Oldmixon,  for  instance,  and  Catherine 
Macaulay  —  have,  to  say  the  least,  been  more  distin- 
guished by  zeal  than  either  by  candor  or  by  skill.     On 

15  the  other  side  are  the  most  authoritative  and  the  most 
popular  historical  works  in  our  language,  that  of 
Clarendon,  and  that  of  Hume.  The  former  is  not  only 
ably  written  and  full  of  valuable  information,  but  has 
also  an  air  of  dignity  and  sincerity  which  makes  even  the 

20  prejudices  and  errors  with  which  it  abounds  respectable. 
Hume,  from  whose  fascinating  narrative  the  great  mass 
of  the  reading  public  are  still  contented  to  take  their 
opinions,  hated  religion  so  much  that  he  hated  liberty 
for  having  been  allied  with  religion,  and  has  pleaded  the 

25  cause  of  tyranny  with  the  dexterity  of  an  advocate  while 
affecting  the  impartiality  of  a  judge. 

The  public  conduct  of  Milton  must  be  approved  or 
condemned  according  as  the  .resistance  of  the  people 
to   Charles   the   First   shall   appear   to  be   justifiable   or 

30  criminal.  We  shall,  therefore,  make  no  apology  for 
dedicating  a  few  pages  to  the  discussion  of  that  inter- 
esting and  most  important  question.  We  shall  not  argue 
it  on  general  grounds.  We  shall  not  recur  to  those 
primary  principles   from  which  the    claim  of   any  gov- 


MILT  O.K.  33 

ernment  to  the  obedience  of  its  subjects  is  to  be 
deduced.  We  are  entitled  to  that  vantage-ground;  but 
we  will  relinquish  it.  We  are,  on  this  point,  so  confident 
of  superiority,  that  we  are  not  unwilling  to  imitate  the 
ostentatious  gen.erosity  of  those  ancient  knights  who  5 
vowed  to  joust  without  helmet  or  shield  against  all 
enemies,  and  to  give  their  antagonists  the  advantage  of 
sun  and  wind.  We  will  take  the  naked  constitutional 
question.  We  confidently  aflfirm  that  every  reason  which 
can  be  urged  in  favor  of  the  Revolution  of  1688  may  be  10 
urged  with  at  least  equal  force  in  favor  of  what  is  called 
the  Great  Rebellion. 

In    one    respect    only,   we    think,     can    the    warmest 
admirers  of  Charles  venture  to  say  that  he  was  a  better 
sovereign    than    his    son.      He   was    not,    in    name    and   15 
profession,    a   Papist;  we   say   in    name   and   profession, 
because   both    Charles   himself  and    his   creature   Laud, 
while    they    abjured    the    innocent    badges    of    popery, 
retained  all  its   worst   vices  —  a  complete  subjection  of 
reason    to    authority,    a    weak    preference    of    form    to  20 
substance,  a  childish  passion   for  mummeries,  an  idola- 
trous veneration   for  the   priestly  character,  and,  above 
all,  a  merciless    intolerance.     This,  however,  we   waive. 
We  will   concede  that   Charles  was   a  good   Protestant; 
but  we   say  that    his  Protestantism  does  not  make  the  25 
slightest  distinction  between  his  case  and  that  of  James. 

The  principles  of  the  Revolution  have  often  been 
grossly  misrepresented,  and  never  more  than  in  the 
course  of  the  present  year.  There  is  a  certain  class 
of  men,  who,  while  they  profess  to  hold  in  reverence  30 
the  great  names  and  great  actions  of  former  times,  never 
look  at  them  for  any  other  purpose  than  in  order  to 
find  in  them  some  excuse  for  existing  abuses.  In  every 
venerable  precedent  they  pass  by  what  is  essential,  and 


34  MILTON. 

take  only  what  is  accidental :  they  keep  out  of  sight  what 
is  beneficial,  and  hold  up  to  public  imitation  all  that  is 
defective.  If  in  any  part  of  any  great  example  there  be 
anything  unsound,  these  flesh-flies  detect  it  with  an 
5  unerring  instinct,  and  dart  upon  it  with  a  ravenous 
delight.  If  some  good  end  has  been  attained  in  spite 
of  them,  they  feel,  with  their  prototype,  that 

"Their  labor  must  be  to  pervert  that  end, 
And  out  of  good  still  to  find  means  of  evil." 

10  To  the  blessings  which  England  has  derived  from  the 
Revolution  these  people  are  utterly  insensible.  The 
expulsion  of  a  tyrant,  the  solemn  recognition  of  popular 
rights,  liberty,  security,  toleration,  all  go  for  nothing  with 
them.      One    sect    there    was,   which,   from    unfortunate 

'5  temporary  causes,  it  was  thought  necessary  to  keep 
under  close  restraint.  One  part  of  the  empire  there 
was  so  unhappily  circumstanced,  that  at  that  time  its 
misery  was  necessary  to  our  happiness,  and  its  slavery 
to  our  freedom.     These  are  the  parts  of  the  Revolution 

2o  which  the  politicians  of  whom  we  speak  love  to  contem- 
plate, and  which  seem  to  them  not  indeed  to  vindicate, 
but  in  some  degree  to  palliate,  the  good  which  it  has 
produced.  Talk  to  them  of  Naples,  of  Spain,  or  of 
South    America.      They    stand    forth    zealots    for    the 

25  doctrine  of  Divine  Right,  which  has  now  come  back  to 
us,  like  a  thief  from  transportation,  under  the  alias  of 
Legitimacy.  But  mention  the  miseries  of  Ireland.  Then 
William  is  a  hero.  Then  Somers  and  Shrewsbury  are 
great  men.     Then  the  Revolution  is  a  glorious  era.     The 

30  very  same  persons  who,  in  this  country,  never  omit  an 
opportunity  of  reviving  every  wretched  Jacobite  slander 
respecting  the  Whigs  of  that  period,  have  no  sooner 
crossed  St.  George's  Channel  than  they  begin  to  fill 
their  bumpers   to   the    glorious    and    immortal   memory. 


MIL  TON.  3  5 

They  may  truly  boast  that  they  look  not  at  men,  but  at 
measures.  So  that  evil  be  done,  they  care  not  who  does 
it;  the  arbitrary  Charles,  or  the  liberal  William,  Ferdinand 
the  Catholic,  or  Frederic  the  Protestant.  On  such  occa- 
sions their  deadliest  opponents  may  reckon  upon  their  5 
candid  construction.  The  bold  assertions  of  these 
people  have  of  late  impressed  a  large  portion  of  the 
public  with  an  opinion  that  James  the  Second  was 
expelled  simply  because  he  was  a  Catholic,  and  that 
the  Revolution  was  essentially  a  Protestant  Revolution.      10 

But  this  certainly  was  not  the  case  ;  nor  can  any  per- 
son who  has  acquired  more  knowledge  of  the  history  of 
those  times  than  is  to  be  found  in  Goldsmith's  Abridg- 
ment believe  that,  if  James  had  held  his  own  religious 
opinions  without  wishing  to  make  proselytes,  or  if,  wishing  15 
even  to  make  proselytes,  he  had  contented  himself  with 
exerting  only  his  constitutional  influence  for  that  purpose, 
the  Prince  of  Orange  would  ever  have  been  invited  over. 
Our  ancestors,  we  suppose,  knew  their  own  meaning  ; 
and,  if  we  may  believe  them,  their  hostility  was  primarily  2c 
not  to  popery,  but  to  tyranny.  They  did  not  drive  out  a 
tyrant  because  he  was  a  Catholic ;  but  they  excluded 
Catholics  from  the  crown  because  they  thought  them 
likely  to  be  tyrants.  The  ground  on  which  they,  in  their 
famous  resolution,  declared  the  throne  vacant,  was  this,  25 
"that  James  had  broken  the  fundamental  laws  of  the 
kingdom."  Every  man,  therefore,  who  approves  of  the 
Revolution  of  1688  must  hold  that  the  breach  of  funda- 
mental laws  on  the  part  of  the  sovereign  justifies  resist- 
ance. The  question,  then,  is  this:  Had  Charles  the  First  30 
broken  the  fundamental  laws  of  England  ? 

No  person  can  answer  in  the  negative,  unless  he  refuses 
credit,  not  merely  to  all  the  accusations  brought  against 
Charles  by  his  opponents,  but  to  the  narratives  of  the 


36  MILTON. 

warmest  Royalists,  and  to  the  confessions  of  the  King 
himself.  If  there  be  any  truth  in  any  historian  of  any 
party  who  has  related  the  events  of  that  reign,  the  con- 
duct of  Charles,  from  his  accession  to  the  meeting  of  the 
5  Long  Parliament,  had  been  a  continued  course  of  oppres- 
sion and  treachery.  Let  those  who  applaud  the  Revolu- 
tion and  condemn  the  Rebellion  mention  one  act  of  James 
the  Second  to  which  a  parallel  is  not  to  be  found  in  the 
history  of  his  father.     Let  them  lay  their  fingers  on  a 

10  single  article  in  the  Declaration  of  Right,  presented  by 
the  two  Houses  to  William  and  Mary,  which  Charles  is 
not  acknowledged  to  have  violated.  He  had,  according 
to  the  testimony  of  his  own  friends,  usurped  the  functions 
of  the  legislature,   raised  taxes   without  the   consent  of 

15  Parliament,  and  quartered  troops  on  the  people  in  the 
most  illegal  and  vexatious  manner.  Not  a  single  session 
of  Parliament  had  passed  without  some  unconstitutional 
attack  on  the  freedom  of  debate ;  the  right  of  petition 
was    grossly    violated ;    arbitrary   judgments,    exorbitant 

20  fines,  and  unwarranted  imprisonments  were  grievances  of 
daily  occurrence.  If  these  things  do  not  justify  resist- 
ance, the  Revolution  was  treason ;  if  they  do,  the  Great 
Rebellion  was  laudable. 

But,  it  is  said,  why  not  adopt  milder  measures  ?     Why, 

25  after  the  king  had  consented  to  so  many  reforms,  and 
renounced  so  many  oppressive  prerogatives,  did  the 
Parliament  continue  to  rise  in  their  demands  at  the  risk 
of  provoking  a  civil  war.''  The  ship-money  had  been 
given  up.     The  Star-chamber  had  been  abolished.     Pro- 

30  vision  had  been  made  for  the  frequent  convocation  and 
secure  deliberation  of  parliaments.  Why  not  pursue  an 
end  confessedly  good  by  peaceable  and  regular  means  ? 
We  recur  again  to  the  analogy  of  the  Revolution.  Why 
was   James  driven  from  the  throne  ?     Why  was  he  not 


MILTON.  37 

retained  upon  conditions  ?  He  too  had  offered  to  call 
a  free  parliament,  and  to  submit  to  its  decision  all  the 
matters  in  dispute.  Yet  we  are  in  the  habit  of  praising 
our  forefathers,  who  preferred  a  revolution,  a  disputed 
succession,  a  dynasty  of  strangers,  twenty  years  of  foreign  5 
and  intestine  war,  a  standing  army,  and  a  national  debt, 
to  the  rule,  however  restricted,  of  a  tried  and  proved 
tyrant.  The  Long  Parliament  acted  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple, and  is  entitled  to  the  same  praise.  They  could 
not  trust  the  king.  He  had  no  doubt  passed  salutary  10 
laws ;  but  what  assurance  was  there  that  he  would  not 
break  them  ?  He  had  renounced  oppressive  prerogatives  ; 
but  where  was  the  security  that  he  would  not  resume 
them  ?  The  nation  had  to  deal  with  a  man  whom  no  tie 
could  bind,  a  man  who  made  and  broke  promises  with  15 
equal  facility,  a  man  whose  honor  had  been  a  hundred 
times  pawned,  and  never  redeemed. 

Here,  indeed,  the  Long  Parliament  stands  on  still 
stronger  ground  than  the  Convention  of  1688.  No  action 
of  James  can  be  compared  to  the  conduct  of  Charles  with  20 
respect  to  the  Petition  of  Right.  The  Lords  and  Com- 
mons present  him  with  a  bill  in  which  the  constitutional 
limits  of  his  power  are  marked  out.  He  hesitates ;  he 
evades  ;  at  last  he  bargains  to  give  his  assent  for  five 
subsidies.  The  bill  receives  his  solemn  assent ;  the  sub-  25 
sidies  are  voted ;  but  no  sooner  is  the  tyrant  relieved 
than  he  returns  at  once  to  all  the  arbitrary  measures 
which  he  had  bound  himself  to  abandon,  and  violates  all 
the  clauses  of  the  very  act  which  he  had  been  paid  to  pass. 

For  more  than  ten  years  the  people  had  seen  the  rights  .30 
which  were    theirs    by  a   double   claim,   by  immemorial 
inheritance  and    by  recent    purchase,   infringed    by  the 
perfidious   king  who  had   recognized  them.     At  length 
circumstances    compelled    Charles    to    summon    another 


38  MILTON. 

Parliament ;  another  chance  was  given  to  our  fathers  : 
were  they  to  throw  it  away  as  they  had  thrown  away  the 
former  ?  Were  they  again  to  be  cozened  by  le  Roi  le  vetit? 
Were  they  again  to  advance  their  money  on  pledges 
5  which  had  been  forfeited  over  and  over  again  ?  Were 
they  to  lay  a  second  Petition  of  Right  at  the  foot  of  the 
throne,  to  grant  another  lavish  aid  in  exchange  for 
another  unmeaning  ceremony,  and  then  to  take  their 
departure,  till,  after  ten  years  more  of  fraud  and  oppres- 

10  sion,  their  prince  should  again  require  a  supply,  and 
again  repay  it  with  a  perjury  ?  They  were  compelled  to 
choose  whether  they  would  trust  a  tyrant  or  conquer  him. 
We  think  that  they  chose  wisely  and  nobly. 

The  advocates  of  Charles,  like  the  advocates  of  other 

15  malefactors  against  whom  overwhelming  evidence  is  pro- 
duced, generally  decline  all  controversy  about  the  facts, 
and  content  themselves  with  calling  testimony  to  char- 
acter. He  had  so  many  private  virtues  !  And  had  James 
the  Second  no  private  virtues .''     Was  Oliver  Cromwell, 

20  his  bitterest  enemies  themselves  being  judges,  destitute 
of  private  virtues  ?  And  what,  after  all,  are  the  virtues 
ascribed  to  Charles .''  A  religious  zeal,  not  more  sincere 
than  that  of  his  son,  and  fully  as  weak  and  narrow-minded, 
and  a  few  of  the  ordinary  household  decencies  which  half 

25  the  tombstones  in  England  claim  for  those  who  lie  beneath 
them.  A  good  father  !  A  good  husband  !  Ample  apolo- 
gies indeed  for  fifteen  years  of  persecution,  tyranny,  and 
falsehood  ! 

We   charge    him  with    having   broken   his   coronation 

30  oath  ;  and  we  are  told  that  he  kept  his  marriage  vow  ! 
We  accuse  him  of  having  given  up  his  people  to  the 
merciless  inflictions  of  the  most  hot-headed  and  hard- 
hearted of  prelates ;  and  the  defense  is,  that  he  took  his 
little  son  on  his  knee  and  kissed  him !     We  censure  him 


MILTON.  39 

for  having  violated  the  articles  of  the  Petition  of  Right, 
after  having,  for  good  and  valuable  consideration,  prom- 
ised to  observe  them  ;  and  we  are  informed  that  he  was 
accustomed  to  hear  prayers  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning ! 
It  is  to  such  considerations  as  these,  together  with  his  5 
Vandyke  dress,  his  handsome  face,  and  his  peaked  beard, 
that  he  owes,  we  verily  believe,  most  of  his  popularity 
with  the  present  generation. 

For  ourselves,  we  own  that  we  do  not  understand  the 
common  phrase,  a  good  man,  but  a  bad  king.  We  10 
can  as  easily  conceive  a  good  man  and  an  unnatural 
father,  or  a  good  man  and  a  treacherous  friend.  We 
cannot,  in  estimating  the  character  of  an  individual, 
leave  out  of  our  consideration  his  conduct  in  the  most 
important  of  all  human  relations  ;  and  if  in  that  relation  15 
we  find  him  to  have  been  selfish,  cruel,  and  deceitful,  we 
shall  take  the  liberty  to  call  him  a  bad  man,  in  spite  of  all 
his  temperance  at  table,  and  all  his  regularity  at  chapel. 

We  cannot  refrain  from  adding  a  few  words  respecting 
a  topic  on  which  the  defenders  of  Charles  are  fond  of  20 
dwelling.  If,  they  say,  he  governed  his  people  ill,  he  at 
least  governed  them  after  the  example  of  his  predecessors. 
If  he  violated  their  privileges,  it  was  because  their  privi- 
leges had  not  been  accurately  defined.  No  act  of  oppres- 
sion has  ever  been  imputed  to  him  which  has  not  a  25 
parallel  in  the  annals  of  the  Tudors.  This  point  Hume 
has  labored,  with  an  art  which  is  as  discreditable  in  a 
historical  work  as  it  would  be  admirable  in  a  forensic  ad- 
dress. The  answer  is  short,  clear,  and  decisive.  Charles 
had  assented  to  the  Petition  of  Right.  He  had  renounced  30 
the  oppressive  powers  said  to  have  been  exercised  by  his 
predecessors,  and  he  had  renounced  them  for  money. 
He  was  not  entitled  to  set  up  his  antiquated  claims 
against  his  own  recent  release. 


40  MILTON. 

These  arguments  are  so  obvious  that  it  may  seem 
superfluous  to  dwell  upon  them.  But  those  who  have 
observed  how  much  the  events  of  that  time  are  misrepre- 
sented and  misunderstood  will  not  blame  us  for  stating 

5  the  case  simply.  It  is  a  case  of  which  the  simplest 
statement  is  the  strongest. 

The  enemies  of  the  Parliament,  indeed,  rarely  choose 
to  take  issue  on  the  great  points  of  the  question.  They 
content  themselves   with  exposing  some   of  the   crimes 

lo  and  follies  to  which  public  commotions  necessarily 
give  birth.  They  bewail  the  unmerited  fate  of  Straf- 
ford. They  execrate  the  lawless  violence  of  the  army. 
They  laugh  at  the  Scriptural  names  of  the  preachers. 
Major-generals    fleecing   their    districts ;    soldiers    revel- 

15  ling  on  the  spoils  of  a  ruined  peasantry;  upstarts,  en- 
riched by  the  public  plunder,  taking  possession  of  the 
hospitable  firesides  and  hereditary  trees  of  the  old 
gentry  ;  boys  smashing  the  beautiful  windows  of  cathe- 
drals ;    Quakers  riding  naked  through  the  market-place  ; 

20  Fifth-monarchy-men  shouting  for  King  Jesus  ;  agitators 
lecturing  from  the  tops  of  tubs  on  the  fate  of  Agag  ; 
all  these,  they  tell  us,  were  the  offspring  of  the  Great 
Rebellion. 

Be  it  so.     We  are  not  careful  to  answer  in  this  matter. 

55  These  charges,  were  they  infinitely  more  important, 
would  not  alter  our  opinion  of  an  event  which  alone 
has  made  us  to  differ  from  the  slaves  who  crouch 
beneath  despotic  sceptres.  Many  evils,  no  doubt,  were 
produced  by  the  civil  war.     They  were  the  price  of  our 

30  liberty.  Has  the  acquisition  been  worth  the  sacrifice  ? 
It  is  the  nature  of  the  devil  of  tyranny  to  tear  and 
rend  the  body  which  he  leaves.  Are  the  miseries  of 
continued  possession  less  horrible  than  the  struggles 
of  the  tremendous  exorcism  ? 


MILTON.  41 

If  it  were  possible  that  a  people  brought  up  under  an 
intolerant  and  arbitrary  system  could  subvert  that  system 
without  acts  of  cruelty  and  folly,  half  the  objections  to 
despotic  power  would  be  removed.  We  should,  in  that 
case,  be  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  it  at  least  5 
produces  no  pernicious  effects  on  the  intellectual  and 
moral  character  of  a  nation.  We  deplore  the  outrages 
which  accompany  revolutions.  But  the  more  violent  the 
outrages,  the  more  assured  we  feel  that  a  revolution  was 
necessary.  The  violence  of  these  outrages  will  always  10 
be  proportioned  to  the  ferocity  and  ignorance  of  the 
people;  and  the  ferocity  and  ignorance  of  the  people 
will  be  proportioned  to  the  oppression  and  degradation 
under  which  they  have  been  accustomed  to  live.  Thus 
it  was  in  our  civil  war.  The  heads  of  the  Church  and  15 
State  reaped  only  that  which  they  had  sown.  The 
Government  had  prohibited  free  discussion;  it  had  done 
its  best  to  keep  the  people  unacquainted  with  their 
duties  and  their  rights.  The  retribution  was  just  and 
natural.  If  our  rulers  suffered  from  popular  ignorance,  20 
it  was  because  they  had  themselves  taken  away  the  key 
of  knowledge.  If  they  were  assailed  with  blind  fury, 
it  was  because  they  had  exacted  an  equally  blind 
submission. 

It  is  the  character  of  such  revolutions  that  we  always  25 
see  the  worst  -  of  them  at  first.  Till  men  have  been 
some  time  free,  they  know  not  how  to  use  their  freedom. 
The  natives  of  wine  countries  are  generally  sober.  In 
climates  where  wine  is  a  rarity  intemperance  abounds. 
A  newly  liberated  people  may  be  compared  to  a  30 
Northern  army  encamped  on  the  Rhine  or  the  Xeres. 
It  is  said  that  when  soldiers  in  such  a  situation  find 
themselves  able  to  indulge  without  restraint  in  such  a 
rare  and   expensive   luxury,   nothing  is   to   be  seen   but 


42  MILTON. 

intoxication.  Soon,  however,  plenty  teaches  discretion; 
and,  after  wine  has  been  for  a  few  months  their  daily 
fare,  they  become  more  temperate  than  they  had  ever 
been  in  their  own  country.  In  the  same  manner,  the 
5  final  and  permanent  fruits  of  liberty  are  wisdom,  mod- 
eration, and  mercy.  Its  immediate  effects  are  often 
atrocious  crimes,  conflicting  errors,  scepticism  on  points 
the  most  clear,  dogmatism  on  points  the  most  mysterious. 
It  is  just  at  this  crisis  that  its  enemies  love  to  exhibit 

lo  it.  They  pull  down  the  scaffolding  from  the  half-finished 
edifice;  they  point  to  the  flying  dust,  the  falling  bricks, 
the  comfortless  rooms,  the  frightful  irregularity  of  the 
whole  appearance;  and  then  ask  in  scorn  where  the 
promised  splendor  and  comfort  is  to  be  found.     If  such 

15  miserable  sophisms  were  to  prevail,  there  would  never 
be  a  good  house  or  a  good  government  in  the  world. 

Ariosto  tells  a  pretty  story  of  a  fairy,  who,  by  some 
mysterious  law  of  her  nature,  was  condemned  to  appear 
at  certain  seasons  in  the  form  of  a  foul  and  poisonous 

20  snake.  Those  who  injured  her  during  the  period  of  her 
disguise  were  forever  excluded  from  participation  in  the 
blessings  which  she  bestowed.  But  to  those  who,  in 
spite  of  her  loathsome  aspect,  pitied  and  protected  her, 
she    afterwards    revealed    herself    in    the    beautiful    and 

25  celestial  form  which  was  natural  to  her,  accompanied 
their  steps,  granted  all  their  wishes,  filled  their  houses 
with  wealth,  made  them  happy  in  love  and  victorious 
in  war.  Such  a  spirit  is  Liberty.  At  times  she  takes 
the  form  of  a  hateful  reptile.     She  grovels,  she  hisses, 

30  she  stings.  But  woe  to  those  who  in  disgust  shall 
venture  to  crush  her  !  And  happy  are  those  who, 
having  dared  to  receive  her  in  her  degraded  and 
frightful  shape,  shall  at  length  be  rewarded  by  her  in 
the  time  of  her  beauty  and  her  glory  ! 


MIL  TON. 

There  is  only  one  cure  for  the  evils  which  newly 
acquired  freedom  produces;  and  that  cure  is  freedom. 
When  a  prisoner  first  leaves  his  cell  he  cannot  bear 
the  light  of  day;  he  is  unable  to  discriminate  colors 
or  recognize  faces.  But  the  remedy  is,  not  to  remand 
him  into  his  dungeon,  but  to  accustom  him  to  the  rays 
of  the  sun.  The  blaze  of  truth  and  liberty  may  at  first 
dazzle  and  bewilder  nations  which  have  become  half- 
blind  in  the  house  of  bondage.  But  let  them  gaze 
on,  and  they  will  soon  be  able  to  bear  it.  In  a  few 
years  men  learn  to  reason.  The  extreme  violence  of 
opinions  subsides.  Hostile  theories  correct  each  other. 
The  scattered  elements  of  truth  cease  to  contend,  and 
begin  to  coalesce;  and  at  length  a  system  of  justice  and 
order  is  educed  out  of  the  chaos. 

Many  politicians  of  our  time  are  in  the  habit  of  laying 
it  down  as  a  self-evident  proposition,  that  no  people  ought 
to  be  free  till  they  are  fit  to  use  their  freedom.  The 
maxim  is  worthy  of  the  fool  in  the  old  story,  who  resolved 
not  to  go  into  the  water  till  he  had  learned  to  swim.  If 
men  are  to  wait  for  liberty  till  they  become  wise  and 
good  in  slavery,  they  may  indeed  wait  forever. 

Therefore  it  is  that  we  decidedly  approve  of  the  conduct 
of  Milton  and  the  other  wise  and  good  men  who,  in  spite  of 
much  that  was  ridiculous  and  hateful  in  the  conduct  of 
their  associates,  stood  firmly  by  the  cause  of  public  liberty. 
We  are  not  aware  that  the  poet  has  been  charged  with 
personal  participation  in  any  of  the  blamable  excesses  of 
that  time.  The  favorite  topic  of  his  enemies  is  the  line 
of  conduct  which  he  pursued  with  regard  to  the  execution 
of  the  King.  Of  that  celebrated  proceeding  we  by  no 
means  approve.  Still,  we  must  say,  in  justice  to  the 
many  eminent  persons  who  concurred  in  it,  and  in  justice, 
more  particularly,  to  the  eminent  person  who  defended  it, 


43 


44  MIL  TON. 

that  nothing  can  be  more  absurd  than  the  imputations 
which,  for  the  last  hundred  and  sixty  years,  it  has  been 
the  fashion  to  cast  upon  the  Regicides.  We  have,  through- 
out,   abstained   from   appealing  to   first   principles.     We 

5  will  not  appeal  to  them  now.  We  recur  again  to  the 
parallel  case  of  the  Revolution.  What  essential  distinc- 
tion can  be  drawn  between  the  execution  of  the  father 
and  the  deposition  of  the  son  ?  What  constitutional 
maxim  is  there  which  applies   to  the  former  and  not  to 

10  the  latter.^  The  King  can  do  no  wrong.  If  so,  James 
was  as  innocent  as  Charles  could  have  been.  The  min- 
ister only  ought  to  be  responsible  for  the  acts  of  the 
sovereign.  If  so,  why  not  impeach  Jeffreys  and  retain 
James  ?     The  person  of  a  king  is  sacred.     Was  the  per- 

15  son  of  James  considered  sacred  at  the  Boyne  ?  To  dis- 
charge cannon  against  an  army  in  which  a  king  is  known 
to  be  posted  is  to  approach  pretty  near  to  regicide. 
Charles,  too,  it  should  always  be  remembered,  was  put 
to  death  by  men  who  had  been  exasperated  by  the  hos- 

20  tilities  of  several  years,  and  who  had  never  been  bound 
to  him  by  any  other  tie  than  that  which  was  common  to 
them  with  all  their  fellow-citizens.  Those  who  drove 
James  from  his  throne,  who  seduced  his  army,  who 
alienated  his   friends,  who   first    imprisoned   him   in   his 

25  palace,  and  then  turned  him  out  of  it,  who  broke  in  upon 
his  very  slumbers  by  imperious  messages,  who  pursued 
him  with  fire  and  sword  from  one  part  of  the  empire  to 
another,  who  hanged,  drew,  and  quartered  his  adherents, 
and  attainted  his  innocent  heir,  were  his  nephew  and  his 

30  two  daughters.  When  we  refiect  on  all  these  things,  we 
are  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how  the  same  persons  who,  on 
the  fifth  of  November,  thank  God  for  wonderfully  conduct- 
ing his  servant  William,  and  for  making  all  opposition 
fall  before  him  until  he  became  our  King  and  Governor, 


MILTON.  45 

can,  on  the  thirtieth  of  January,  contrive  to  be  afraid 
that  the  blood  of  the  Royal  Martyr  may  be  visited  on 
themselves  and  their  children. 

We  disapprove,  we  repeat,  of  the  execution  of  Charles ; 
not   because    the    constitution    exempts    the    king    from     5 
responsibility,  for  we  know  that  all  such  maxims,  however 
excellent,  have  their  exceptions  ;  nor  because  we  feel  any 
peculiar  interest  in  his  character,  for  we  think  that  his 
sentence  describes  him  with  perfect  justice  as  "a  tyrant, 
a  traitor,  a  murderer,  and  a  public  enemy  ;"  but  because   10 
we  are  convinced  that  the  measure  was  most  injurious  to 
the  cause  of  freedom.      He  whom  it  removed  was  a  cap- 
tive and  a  hostage  :   his  heir,  to  whom  the  allegiance  of 
every  Royalist   was   instantly  transferred,  was   at   large.  < 
The  Presbyterians  could  never  have  been  perfectly  recon-   15 
ciled  to  the  father :    they  had  no  such  rooted  enmity  to 
the  son.      The  great  body  of  the  people,  also,   contem- 
plated that  proceeding  with  feelings  which,  however  unrea- 
sonable, no  government  could  safely  venture  to  outrage. 

But    though   we   think  the   conduct   of  the  Regicides  20 
blamable,  that  of  Milton  appears  to  us  in  a  very  different 
light.     The  deed  was  done.     It  could  not  be  undone. 
The  evil  was  incurred  ;  and  the  object  was  to  render  it 
as  small  as  possible.     We  censure  the  chiefs  of  the  army 
for  not  yielding  to  the  popular  opinion  ;    but  we  cannot  25 
censure  Milton  for  wishing  to  change  that  opinion.     The 
very  feeling  which  would  have  restrained  us  from  com- 
mitting the  act  would  have  led  us,  after  it  had  been  com- 
mitted, to  defend  it  against  the  ravings  of  servility  and 
superstition.     For  the  sake  of  public  liberty,  we  wish  that  30 
the  thing  had  not  been  done,  while  the  people  disapproved 
of  it.     But,  for  the  sake  of  public  liberty,  we  should  also 
have  wished  the  people  to  approve  of  it  when  it  was  done. 
If  anything  more   were   wanting   to   the   justification   of 


46  MIL  TON. 

Milton,  the  book  of  Salmasius  would  furnish  it.  That 
miserable  performance  is  now  with  justice  considered 
only  as  a  beacon  to  word-catchers,  who  wish  to  become 
statesmen.  The  celebrity  of  the  man  who  refuted  it,  the 
5  yE?ie(E  magiii  dextra^  gives  it  all  its  fame  with  the  present 
generation.  In  that  age  the  state  of  things  was  different. 
It  was  not  then  fully  understood  how  vast  an  interval 
separates  the  mere  classical  scholar  from  the  political 
philosopher.     Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  a  treatise  which, 

10  bearing  the  name  of  so  eminent  a  critic,  attacked  the 
fundamental  principles  of  all  free  governments,  must,  if 
suffered  to  remain  unanswered,  have  produced  a  most 
pernicious  effect  on  the  public  mind. 

We  wish  to  add  a  few  words  relative  to  another  subject 

15  on  which  the  enemies  of  Milton  delight  to  dwell  —  his 
conduct  during  the  administration  of  the  Protector.  That 
an  enthusiastic  votary  of  liberty  should  accept  office  under 
a  military  usurper  seems,  no  doubt,  at  first  .sight,  extra- 
ordinary.    But  all  the  circumstances  in  which  the  country 

20  was  then  placed  were  extraordinary.  The  ambition  of 
Oliver  was  of  no  vulgar  kind.  He  never  seems  to  have 
coveted  despotic  power.  He  at  first  fought  sincerely  and 
manfully  for  the  Parliament,  and  never  deserted  it  till  it 
had  deserted  its  duty.     If  he  dissolved  it  by  force,  it  was 

25  not  till  he  found  that  the  few  members  who  remained 
after  so  many  deaths,  secessions,  and  expulsions,  were 
desirous  to  appropriate  to  themselves  a  power  which  they 
held  only  in  trust,  and  to  inflict  upon  England  the  curse 
of  a  Venetian  oligarchy.     But  even  when  thus  placed  by 

30  violence  at  the  head  of  affairs,  he  did  not  assume  un- 
limited power.  He  gave  the  country  a  constitution  far 
more  perfect  than  any  which  had  at  that  time  been  known 
in  the  world.  He  reformed  the  representative  system  in 
a  manner  which  has   extorted   praise  even  from    Lord 


MIL  TO^.  47 

Clarendon.  For  himself  he  demanded  indeed  the  first 
place  in  the  commonwealth  ;  but  with  powers  scarcely  so 
great  as  those  of  a  Dutch  stadtholder,  or  an  American 
president.  He  gave  the  Parliament  a  voice  in  the  ap- 
pointment of  ministers,  and  left  to  it  the  whole  legislative  5 
authority,  not  even  reserving  to  himself  a  veto  on  its 
enactments  ;  and  he  did  not  require  that  the  chief  magis- 
tracy should  be  hereditary  in  his  family.  Thus  far,  we 
think,  if  the  circumstances  of  the  time  and  the  opportuni- 
ties which  he  had  of  aggrandizing  himself  be  fairly  con-  ic 
sidered,  he  will  not  lose  by  comparison  with  Washington 
or  Bolivar.  Had  his  moderation  been  met  by  correspond- 
ing moderation,  there  is  no  reason  to  think  that  he  would 
have  overstepped  the  line  which  he  had  traced  for  himself. 
But  when  he  found  that  his  parliaments  questioned  the  15 
authority  under  which  they  met,  and  that  he  was  in 
danger  of  being  deprived  of  the  restricted  power  which 
was  absolutely  necessary  to  his  personal  safety,  then,  it 
must  be  acknowledged,  he  adopted  a  more  arbitrary 
policy.  20 

Yet,  though  we  believe  that  the  intentions  of  Cromwell 
were  at  first  honest,  though  we  believe  that  he  was 
driven  from  the  noble  course  which  he  had  marked  out 
for  himself  by  the  almost  irresistible  force  of  circum- 
stances, though  we  admire,  in  common  with  all  men  of  25 
all  parties,  the  ability  and  energy  of  his  splendid  admin- 
istration, we  are  not  pleading  for  arbitary  and  lawless 
power,  even  in  his  hands.  We  know  that  a  good  consti- 
tution is  infinitely  better  than  the  best  despot.  But  we 
suspect  that,  at  the  time  of  which  we  speak,  the  violence  30 
of  religious  and  political  enmities  rendered  a  stable  and 
happy  settlement  next  to  impossible.  The  choice  lay, 
not  between  Cromwell  and  liberty,  but  between  Cromwell 
and  the  Stuarts.     That  Milton  chose  well,  no  man  can 


48  *MIL  TON. 

doubt  who  fairly  compares  the  events  of  the  protectorate 
with  those  of  the  thirty  years  which  succeeded  it,  the 
darkest  and  most  disgraceful  in  the  English  annals. 
Cromwell  was  evidently  laying,  though  in  an  irregular 
5  manner,  the  foundations  of  an  admirable  system. 
Never  before  had  religious  liberty  and  the  freedom  of 
discussion  been  enjoyed  in  a  greater  degree.  Never  had 
the  national  honor  been  better  upheld  abroad,  or  the 
seat  of  justice  better  filled  at  home.     And  it  was  rarely 

10  that  any  opposition  which  stopped  short  of  open  rebellion 
provoked  the  resentment  of  the  liberal  and  magnanimous 
usurper.  The  institutions  which  he  had  established,  as 
set  down  in  the  Instrument  of  Government,  and  the 
Humble  Petition  and  Advice,  were  excellent.     His  prac- 

15  tice,  it  is  true,  too  often  departed  from  the  theory  of 
these  institutions.  But  had  he  lived  a  few  years  longer, 
it  is  probable  that  his  institutions  would  have  survived 
him,  and  that  his  arbitrary  practice  would  have  died 
with    him.      His    power    had    not    been    consecrated    by 

20  ancient  prejudices.  It  was  upheld  only  by  his  great 
personal  qualities.  Little,  therefore,  was  to  be  dreaded 
from  a  second  protector,  unless  he  were  also  a  second 
Oliver  Cromwell.  The  events  which  followed  his  decease 
are  the  most  complete  vindication  of  those  who  exerted 

25  themselves  to  uphold  his  authority.  His  death  dissolved 
the  whole  frame  of  society.  The  army  rose  against  the 
Parliament,  the  different  corps  of  the  army  against  each 
other.  Sect  raved  against  sect.  Party  plotted  against 
party.     The  Presbyterians,  in  their  eagerness  to  be  re- 

30  venged  on  the  Independents,  sacrificed  their  own  liberty, 
and  deserted  all  their  old  principles.  Without  casting 
one  glance  on  the  past,  or  requiring  one  stipulation  for 
the  future,  they  threw  down  their  freedom  at  the  feet  of 
the  most  frivolous  and  heartless  of  tyrants. 


MIL  TON.  49 

Then  came  those  days,  never  to  be  recalled  without  a 
blush,  the  days  of  servitude  without  loyalty  and  sensu- 
ality without  love,  of  dwarfish  talents  and  gigantic  vices, 
the  paradise  of  cold  hearts  and  narrow  minds,  the 
golden  age  of  the  coward,  the  bigot,  and  the  slave.  5 
The  King  cringed  to  his  rival  that  he  might  trample  on 
his  people,  sank  into  a  viceroy  of  France,  and  pocketed, 
with  complacent  infamy,  her  degrading  insults  and  her 
more  degrading  gold.  The  caresses  of  harlots  and  the 
jests  of  buffoons  regulated  the  policy  of  the  State.  The  10 
government  had  just  ability  enough  to  deceive,  and  just 
religion  enough  to  persecute.  The  principles  of  liberty 
were  the  scoff  of  every  grinning  courtier,  and  the 
Anathema  Maranatha  of  every  fawning  dean.  In  every 
high  place,  worship  was  paid  to  Charles  and  James,  15 
Belial  and  Moloch  ;  and  England  propitiated  those 
obscene  and  cruel  idols  with  the  blood  of  her  best 
and  bravest  children.  Crime  succeeded  to  crime,  and 
disgrace  to  disgrace,  till  the  race  accursed  of  God  and 
man  was  a  second  time  driven  forth,  to  wander  on  the  20 
face  of  the  earth,  and  to  be  a  by-word  and  a  shaking  of 
the  head  to  the  nations. 

Most  of  the  remarks  which  we  have  hitherto  made  on 
the  public  character  of  Milton  apply  to  him  only  as  one 
of  a  large  body.  We  shall  proceed  to  notice  some  of  25 
the  peculiarities  which  distinguished  him  from  his  con- 
temporaries. And,  for  that  purpose,  it  is  necessary  to 
take  a  short  survey  of  the  parties  into  which  the  political 
world  was  at  that  time  divided.  We  must  premise  that 
our  observations  are  intended  to  apply  only  to  those  30 
who  adhered,  from  a  sincere  preference,  to  one  or  to  the 
other  side.  In  days  of  public  commotion,  every  faction, 
like  an  Oriental  army,  is  attended  by  a  crowd  of  camp- 
followers,    a    useless    and    heartless    rabble,    who    prowl 


50  MILTON. 

round  its  line  of  march  in  the  hope  of  picking  up 
something  under  its  protection,  but  desert  it  in  the  day 
of  battle,  and  often  join  to  exterminate  it  after  a  defeat. 
England,  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  treating,  abounded 

5  with  fickle  and  selfish  politicians,  who  transferred  their 
support  to  every  government  as  it  rose ;  who  kissed 
the  hand  of  the  king  in  1640,  and  spat  in  his  face  in 
1649  5  ^^^  shouted  with  equal  glee  when  Cromwell  was 
inaugurated    at    Westminster    Hall    and    when    he    was 

10  dug  up  to  be  hanged  at  Tyburn  ;  who  dined  on  calves' 
heads,  or  stuck  up  oak-branches,  as  circumstances 
altered,  without  the  slightest  shame  or  repugnance. 
These  we  leave  out  of  the  account.  We  take  our  esti- 
mate   of   parties    from    those    who    really  deserve  to  be 

15  called  partisans. 

We  would  speak  first  of  the  Puritans,  the  most 
remarkable  body  of  men,  perhaps,  which  the  world  has 
ever  produced.  The  odious  and  ridiculous  parts  of  their 
character  lie  on  the   surface.     He  that  runs   may  read 

20  them ;  nor  have  there  been  wanting  attentive  and 
malicious  observers  to  point  them  out.  For  many 
years  after  the  Restoration  they  were  the  theme  of 
unmeasured  invective  and  derision.  They  were  exposed 
to   the  utmost    licentiousness   of   the   press   and  of   the 

25  stage,  at  the  time  when  the  press  and  the  stage  were 
most  licentious.  They  were  not  men  of  letters ;  they 
were,  as  a  body,  unpopular ;  they  could  not  defend 
themselves  ;  and  the  public  would  not  take  them  under 
its  protection.     They  were  therefore  abandoned,  without 

30  reserve,  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  satirists  and  dram- 
atists. The  ostentatious  simplicity  of  their  dress,  their 
sour  aspect,  their  nasal  twang,  their  stiff  posture,  their 
long  graces,  their  Hebrew  names,  the  Scriptural  phrases 
which  they  introduced  on  every  occasion,  their  contempt 


MIL  TON.  5  I 

of  human  learning,  their  detestation  of  poUte  amuse- 
ments, were  indeed  fair  game  for  the  laughers.  But 
it  is  not  from  the  laughers  alone  that  the  philosophy 
of  history  is  to  be  learned.  And  he  who  approaches 
this  subject  should  carefully  guard  against  the  influence  5 
of  that  potent  ridicule  which  has  already  misled  so  many 
excellent  writers. 

"  Ecco  il  fonte  del  riso,  ed  ecco  il  rio 
Che  mortali  perigli  in  se  contiene  : 
Hor  qui  tener  a  fren  nostro  desio,  10 

Ed  esser  cauti  molto  a  noi  conviene." 

Those  who  roused  the  people  to  resistance ;  who 
directed  their  measures  through  a  long  series  of 
eventful  years  ;  who  formed,  out  of  the  most  unprom- 
ising materials,  the  finest  army  that  Europe  had  ever  15 
seen  ;  who  trampled  down  King,  Church,  and  Aristoc- 
racy; who,  in  the  short  intervals  of  domestic  sedition 
and  rebellion,  made  the  name  of  England  terrible  to 
every  nation  on  the  face  of  the  earth  —  were  no  vulgar 
fanatics.  Most  of  their  absurdities  were  mere  external  20 
badges,  like  the  signs  of  freemasonry  or  the  dresses  of 
friars.  We  regret  that  these  badges  were  not  more 
attractive.  We  regret  that  a  body  to  whose  courage  and 
talents  mankind  has  owed  inestimable  obligations  had 
not  the  lofty  elegance  which  distinguished  some  of  the  25 
adherents  of  Charles  the  First,  or  the  easy  good-breeding 
for  which  the  court  of  Charles  the  Second  was  cele- 
brated. But,  if  we  must  make  our  choice,  we  shall,  like 
Bassanio  in  the  play,  turn  from  the  specious  caskets 
which  contain  only  the  Death's  head  and  the  Fool's  30 
head,  and  fix  on  the  plain  leaden  chest  which  conceals 
the  treasure. 

The    Puritans   were    men   whose    minds    had    derived 
a    peculiar    character    from   the    daily   contemplation    of 


5  2  MIL  TON. 

superior  beings  and  eternal  interests.  Not  content 
with  acknowledging,  in  general  terms,  an  overruling 
Providence,  they  habitually  ascribed  every  event  to 
the  will   of  the   Great   Being  for  whose   power  nothing 

5  was  too  vast,  for  whose  inspection  nothing  was  too 
minute.  To  know  him,  to  serve  him,  to  enjoy  him,  was 
with  them  the  great  end  of  existence.  They  rejected 
with  contempt  the  ceremonious  homage  which  other 
sects    substituted    for   the    pure    worship    of    the    soul. 

10  Instead  of  catching  occasional  glimpses  of  the  Deity 
through  an  obscuring  veil,  they  aspired  to  gaze  full  on 
his  intolerable  brightness,  and  to  commune  with  him 
face  to  face.  Hence  originated  their  contempt  for 
terrestrial    distinctions.      The    difference    between    the 

15  greatest  and  the  meanest  of  mankind  seemed  to  vanish 
when  compared  with  the  boundless  interval  which  sepa- 
rated the  whole  race  from  him  on  whom  their  own  eyes 
were  constantly  fixed.  They  recognized  no  title  to 
superiority  but  his  favor ;   and,  confident  of  that  favor, 

20  they  despised  all  the  accomplishments  and  all  the 
dignities  of  the  world.  If  they  were  unacquainted 
with  the  works  of  philosophers  and  poets,  they  were 
deeply  read  in  the  oracles  of  God.  If  their  names  were 
not  found  in  the  registers  of  heralds,  they  were  recorded 

25  in  the  Book  of  Life.  If  their  steps  were  not  accompanied 
by  a  splendid  train  of  menials,  legions  of  ministering 
angels  had  charge  over  them.  Their  palaces  were 
houses  not  made  with  hands ;  their  diadems  crowns 
of  glory  which   should   never  fade   away.     On   the  rich 

30  and  the  eloquent,  on  nobles  and  priests,  they  looked 
down  with  contempt ;  for  they  esteemed  themselves  rich 
in  a  more  precious  treasure,  and  eloquent  in  a  more 
sublime  language,  nobles  by  the  right  of  an  earlier 
creation,   and    priests    by  the   imposition   of    a   mightier 


MIL  TON.  5  3 

hand.  The  very  meanest  of  them  was  a  being  to  whose 
fate  a  mysterious  and  terrible  importance  belonged  ;  on 
whose  slightest  action  the  spirits  of  light  and  darkness 
looked  with  anxious  interest ;  who  had  been  destined, 
before  heaven  and  earth  were  created,  to  enjoy  a  felicity  5 
which  should  continue  when  heaven  and  earth  should 
have  passed  away.  Events  which  short-sighted  poli- 
ticians ascribed  to  earthly  causes  had  been  ordained 
on  his  account.  For  his  sake  empires  had  risen,  and 
flourished,  and  decayed.  For  his  sake  the  Almighty  10 
had  proclaimed  his  will  by  the  pen  of  the  evangelist 
and  the  harp  of  the  prophet.  He  had  been  wrested  by 
no  common  deliverer  from  the  grasp  of  no  common 
foe.  He  had  been  ransomed  by  the  sweat  of  no  vulgar 
agony,  by  the  blood  of  no  earthly  sacrifice.  It  was  for  15 
him  that  the  sun  had  been  darkened,  that  the  rocks  had 
been  rent,  that  the  dead  had  risen,  that  all  nature  had 
shuddered  at  the  sufferings  of  her  expiring  God. 

Thus  the  Puritan  was  made  up  of  two  different  men, 
the  one  all  self-abasement,  penitence,  gratitude,  passion,  20 
the  other  proud,  calm,  inflexible,  sagacious.  He  pros- 
trated himself  in  the  dust  before  his  Maker ;  but  he  set 
his  foot  on  the  neck  of  his  king.  In  his  devotional 
retirement,  he  prayed  with  convulsions,  and  groans,  and 
tears.  He  was  half  maddened  by  glorious  or  terrible  25 
illusions.  He  heard  the  lyres  of  angels  or  the  tempting 
whispers  of  fiends.  He  caught  a  gleam  of  the  Beatific 
Vision,  or  woke  screaming  from  dreams  of  everlasting 
fire.  Like  Vane,  he  thought  himself  intrusted  with  the 
sceptre  of  the  millennial  year.  Like  Fleetwood,  he  cried  30 
in  the  bitterness  of  his  soul  that  God  had  hid  his  face 
from  him.  But  when  he  took  his  seat  in  the  council,  or 
girt  on  his  sword  for  war,  these  tempestuous  workings 
of  the  soul  had  left  no  perceptible  trace  behind  them. 


54  MILTON. 

People  who  saw  nothing  of  the  godly  but  their  uncouth 
visages,  and  heard  nothing  from  them  but  their  groans 
and  their  whining  hymns,  might  laugh  at  them.  But 
those  had  little  reason  to  laugh  who  encountered  them  in 

5  the  hall  of  debate  or  in  the  field  of  battle.  These  fanatics 
brought  to  civil  and  military  affairs  a  coolness  of  judg- 
ment and  an  immutability  of  purpose  which  some  writers 
have  thought  inconsistent  with  their  religious  zeal,  but 
which  were  in  fact  the  necessary  effects  of  it.     The  in- 

lo  tensity  of  their  feelings  on  one  subject  made  them  tran- 
quil on  every  other.  One  overpowering  sentiment  had 
subjected  to  itself  pity  and  hatred,  ambition  and  fear. 
Death  had  lost  its  terrors  and  pleasure  its  charms.  They 
had  their  smiles  and  their  tears,  their  raptures  and  their 

15  sorrows,  but  not  for  the  things  of  this  world.  Enthusiasm 
had  made  them  stoics,  had  cleared  their  minds  from  every 
vulgar  passion  and  prejudice,  and  raised  them  above  the 
influence  of  danger  and  of  corruption.  It  sometimes 
might  lead  them  to  pursue   unwise   ends,  but  never  to 

20  choose  unwise  means.  They  went  through  the  world,  like 
Sir  Artegal's  iron  man  Talus  with  his  flail,  crushing  and 
trampling  down  oppressors,  mingling  with  human  beings, 
but  having  neither  part  nor  lot  in  human  infirmities;  insen- 
sible to  fatigue,  to  pleasure,  and  to  pain;   not  to  be  pierced 

25  by  any  weapon,  not  to  be  withstood  by  any  barrier. 

Such  we  believe  to  have  been  the  character  of  the 
Puritans.  We  perceive  the  absurdity  of  their  manners. 
We  dislike  the  sullen  gloom  of  their  domestic  habits. 
We  acknowledge  that  the  tone  of  their  minds  was  often 

30  injured  by  straining  after  things  too  high  for  mortal  reach  ; 
and  we  know  that,  in  spite  of  their  hatred  of  popery,  they 
too  often  fell  into  the  worst  vices  of  that  bad  system, 
intolerance  and  extravagant  austerity,  that  they  had  their 
anchorites  and  their  crusades,  their  Dunstans  and  their 


MILTON.  55 

De  Montforts,  their  Dominies  and  their  Escobars.  Yet, 
when  all  circumstances  are  taken  into  consideration,  we 
do  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  them  a  brave,  a  wise,  an 
honest,  and  a  useful  body. 

The  Puritans  espoused  the  cause  of  civil  liberty  mainly  5 
because  it  was  the  cause  of  religion.     There  was  another 
party,  by  no  means  numerous,  but  distinguished  by  learn- 
ing and  ability,  which  acted  with  them  on  very  different 
principles.     We  speak  of  those  whom  Cromwell  was  ac- 
customed to  call  the  Heathens,  men  who   were,  in  the  10 
phraseology  of  that  time,  doubting  Thomases  or  careless 
Gallios  with  regard  to  religious  subjects,  but  passionate 
worshippers  of  freedom.     Heated  by  the  study  of  ancient 
literature,   they  set  up  their  country  as  their  idol,  and 
proposed  to  themselves  the  heroes  of  Plutarch  as  their  15 
examples.     They  seem  to  have  borne  some  resemblance 
to  the  Brissotines  of  the  French  Revolution.     But  it  is 
not  very  easy  to  draw  the   line   of   distinction   between 
them  and  their  devout  associates,  whose  tone  and  manner 
they  sometimes  found  it  convenient  to  affect,  and  some-  20 
times,  it  is  probable,  imperceptibly  adopted. 

We  now  come  to  the  Royalists.  We  shall  attempt  to 
speak  of  them,  as  we  have  spoken  of  their  antagonists, 
with  perfect  candor.  W^e  shall  not  charge  upon  a  whole 
party  the  profligacy  and  baseness  of  the  horse-boys,  25 
gamblers,  and  bravoes,  whom  the  hope  of  license  and 
plunder  attracted  from  the  dens  of  Whitefriars  to  the 
standard  of  Charles,  and  who  disgraced  their  associates 
by  excesses  which,  under  the  stricter  discipline  of  the 
Parliamentary  armies,  were  never  tolerated.  We  will  30 
select  a  more  favorable  specimen.  Thinking  as  we  do 
that  the  cause  of  the  king  was  the  cause  of  bigotry  and 
tyranny,  we  yet  cannot  refrain  from  looking  with  com- 
placency on  the  character  of  the   honest  old  Cavaliers. 


56  MILTON. 

We  feel  a  national  pride  in  comparing  them  with  the 
instruments  which  the  despots  of  other  countries  are 
compelled  to  employ,  with  the  mutes  who  throng  their 
antechambers,  and  the  Janizaries  who  mount  guard  at 
5  their  gates.  Our  Royalist  countrymen  were  not  heartless, 
dangling  courtiers,  bowing  at  every  step,  and  simpering 
at  every  word.  They  were  not  mere  machines  for  destruc- 
tion, dressed  up  in  uniforms,  caned  into  skill,  intoxicated 
into  valor,   defending  without   love,   destroying  without 

10  hatred.  There  was  a  freedom  in  their  subserviency,  a 
nobleness  in  their  very  degradation.  The  sentiment  of 
individual  independence  was  strong  within  them.  They 
were  indeed  misled,  but  by  no  base  or  selfish  motive. 
Compassion  and  romantic  honor,  the  prejudices  of  child- 

15  hood,  and  the  venerable  names  of  history,  threw  over 
them  a  spell  potent  as  that  of  Duessa  ;  and,  like  the  Red- 
cross  Knight,  they  thought  that  they  were  doing  battle 
for  an  injured  beauty,  while  they  defended  a  false  and 
loathsome  sorceress.     In  truth,  they  scarcely  entered  at 

20  all  into  the  merits  of  the  political  question.  It  was  not 
for  a  treacherous  king  or  an  intolerant  church  that  they 
fought,  but  for  the  old  banner  which  had  waved  in  so 
many  battles  over  the  heads  of  their  fathers,  and  for  the 
altars   at  which   they  had   received  the   hands   of  their 

25  brides.  Though  nothing  could  be  more  erroneous  than 
their  political  opinions,  they  possessed,  in  a  far  greater 
degree  than  their  adversaries,  those  qualities  which  are 
the  grace  of  private  life.  With  many  of  the  vices  of  the 
Round  Table,  they  had  also  many  of  its  virtues,  courtesy, 

30  generosity,  veracity,  tenderness,  and  respect  for  women. 
They  had  far  more  both  of  profound  and  of  polite  learning 
than  the  Puritans.  Their  manners  were  more  engaging, 
their  tempers  more  amiable,  their  tastes  more  elegant, 
and  their  households  more  cheerful. 


MILTON.  57 

Milton  did  not  strictly  belong  to  any  of  the  classes 
which  we  have  described.  He  was  not  a  Puritan.  He 
was  not  a  freethinker.  He  was  not  a  Royalist.  In  his 
character  the  noblest  qualities  of  every  party  were 
combined  in  harmonious  union.  From  the  Parliament  5 
and  from  the  court,  from  the  conventicle  and  from  the 
Gothic  cloister,  from  the  gloomy  and  sepulchral  circles 
of  the  Roundheads,  and  from  the  Christmas  revel  of 
the  hospitable  Cavalier,  his  nature  selected  and  drew  to 
itself  whatever  was  great  and  good,  while  it  rejected  all  10 
the  base  and  pernicious  ingredients  by  which  those  finer 
elements  were  defiled.     Like  the  Puritans,  he  lived 

"  As  ever  in  his  great  taskmaster's  eye." 

Like  them,  he  kept  his  mind  continually  fixed  on  the 
Almighty  Judge  and  an  eternal  reward.  And  hence  he  15 
acquired  their  contempt  of  external  circumstances,  their 
fortitude,  their  tranquillity,  their  inflexible  resolution. 
But  not  the  coolest  sceptic  or  the  most  profane  scoffer 
was  more  perfectly  free  from  the  contagion  of  their 
frantic  delusions,  their  savage  manners,  their  ludicrous  20 
jargon,  their  scorn  of  science,  and  their  aversion  to 
pleasure.  Hating  tyranny  with  a  perfect  hatred,  he  had 
nevertheless  all  the  estimable  and  ornamental  qualities 
which  were  almost  entirely  monopolized  by  the  party  of 
the  tyrant.  There  was  none  who  had  a  stronger  sense  25 
of  the  value  of  literature,  a  finer  relish  for  every  elegant 
amusement,  or  a  more  chivalrous  delicacy  of  honor  and 
love.  Though  his  opinions  were  democratic,  his  tastes 
and  his  associations  were  such  as  best  harmonize  with 
monarchy  and  aristocracy.  He  was  under  the  influence  30 
of  all  the  feelings  by  which  the  gallant  Cavaliers  were 
misled.  But  of  those  feelings  he  was  the  master,  and 
not  the  slave.  Like  the  hero  of  Homer,  he  enjoyed  all 
the  pleasures  of  fascination ;  but  he  was  not  fascinated. 


58  MILTON. 

He  listened  to  the  song  of  the  Sirens  ;  yet  he  glided  by 
without  being  seduced  to  their  fatal  shore.  He  tasted 
the  cup  of  Circe  ;  but  he  bore  about  him  a  sure  antidote 
against   the   effects   of   its   bewitching  sweetness.     The 

5  illusions  which  captivated  his  imagination  never  impaired 
his  reasoning  powers.  The  statesman  was  proof  against 
the  splendor,  the  solemnity,  and  the  romance  which 
enchanted  the  poet.  Any  person  who  will  contrast  the 
sentiments  expressed  in  his  treatises  on  Prelacy  with  the 

10  exquisite  lines  on  ecclesiastical  architecture  and  music 
in  the  Fenseroso,  which  was  published  about  the  same 
time,  will  understand  our  meaning.  This  is  an  incon- 
sistency which,  more  than  anything  else,  raises  his 
character    in    our    estimation,    because    it    shows    how 

15  many  private  tastes  and  feelings  he  sacrificed,  in  order 
to  do  what  he  considered  his  duty  to  mankind.  It  is  the 
very  struggle  of  the  noble  Othello.  His  heart  relents  ; 
but  his  hand  is  firm.  He  does  naught  in  hate,  but  all 
in   honor.     He   kisses  the  beautiful  deceiver  before  he 

20  destroys  her. 

That  from  which  the  public  character  of  Milton  derives 
its  great  and  peculiar  splendor  still  remains  to  be  men- 
tioned. If  he  exerted  himself  to  overthrow  a  forsworn 
king  and  a  persecuting  hierarchy,  he  exerted  himself  in 

25  conjunction  with  others.  But  the  glory  of  the  battle 
which  he  fought  for  the  species  of  freedom  which  is 
the  most  valuable,  and  which  was  then  the  least  under- 
stood, the  freedom  of  the  human  mind,  is  all  his  own. 
Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  among  his  contempo- 

30  raries  raised  their  voices  against  ship-money  and  the 
Star-chamber.  But  there  were  few  indeed  who  discerned 
the  more  fearful  evils  of  moral  and  intellectual  slavery, 
and  the  benefits  which  would  result  from  liberty  of  the 
press  and  the  unfettered  exercise   of  private  judgment. 


MILTON.  59 

These  were  the  objects  which  Milton  justly  conceived 
to  be  the  most  important.  He  was  desirous  that  the 
people  should  think  for  themselves  as  well  as  tax 
themselves,  and  should  be  emancipated  from  the 
dominion  of  prejudice  as  well  as  from  that  of  Charles.  5 
He  knew  that  those  who,  with  the  best  intentions, 
overlooked  these  schemes  of  reform,  and  contented 
themselves  with  pulling  down  the  King  and  impris- 
oning the  malignants,  acted  like  the  heedless  brothers 
in  his  own  poem,  who,  in  their  eagerness  to  disperse  10 
the  train  of  the  sorcerer,  neglected  the  means  of  liber- 
ating the  captive.  They  thought  only  of  conquering 
when  they  should  have  thought  of  disenchanting. 

"  Oh,  ye  mistook  !    Ye  should  have  snatched  his  wand 
And  bound  him  fast.    Without  the  rod  reversed,  ic 

And  backward  mutters  of  dissevering  power. 
We  cannot  free  the  lady  that  sits  here 
Bound  in  strong  fetters  fixed  and  motionless." 

To  reverse  the  rod,  to  spell  the  charm  backward,  to 
break  the  ties  which  bound  a  stupefied  people  to  the  20 
seat  of  enchantment,  was  the  noble  aim  of  Milton.  To 
this  all  his  public  conduct  was  directed.  For  this  he 
joined  the  Presbyterians  ;  for  this  he  forsook  them.  He 
fought  their  perilous  battle  ;  but  he  turned  away  with 
disdain  from  their  insolent  triumph.  He  saw  that  they,  25 
like  those  whom  they  had  vanquished,  were  hostile  to 
the  liberty  of  thought.  He  therefore  joined  the  Inde- 
pendents, and  called  upon  Cromwell  to  break  the  secular 
chain,  and  to  save  free  conscience  from  the  paw  of  the 
Presbyterian  wolf.  With  a  view  to  the  same  great  object,  30 
he  attacked  the  licensing  system,  in  that  sublime  treatise 
which  every  statesman  should  wear  as  a  sign  upon  his 
hand  and  as  frontlets  between  his  eyes.  His  attacks 
were,  in  general,  directed  less  against  particular  abuses 


6o  MIL  TON. 

than  against  those  deeply  seated  errors  on  which  almost 
all  abuses  are  founded,  the  servile  worship  of  eminent 
men  and  the  irrational  dread  of  innovation. 

That  he  might  shake  the  foundations  of  these  debasing 
5  sentiments  more  effectually,  he  always  selected  for  him- 
self the  boldest  literary  services.  He  never  came  up  in 
the  rear,  when  the  outworks  had  been  carried  and  the 
breach  entered.  He  pressed  into  the  forlorn  hope.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  changes,  he  wrote  with  incomparable 
10  energy  and  eloquence  against  the  bishops.  But  when  his 
opinion  seemed  likely  to  prevail,  he  passed  on  to  other 
subjects,  and  abandoned  prelacy  to  the  crowd  of  writers 
who  now  hastened  to  insult  a  falling  party.  There  is  no 
more  hazardous  enterprise  than  that  of  bearing  the  torch 

15  of  truth  into  those  dark  and  infected  recesses  in  which  no 
light  has  ever  shone.  But  it  was  the  choice  and  the 
pleasure  of  Milton  to  penetrate  the  noisome  vapors,  and 
to  brave  the  terrible  explosion.  Those  who  most  disap- 
prove of  his  opinions  must  respect  the  hardihood  with 

20  which  he  maintained  them.  He,  in  general,  left  to  others 
the  credit  of  expounding  and  defending  the  popular  parts 
of  his  religious  and  political  creed.  He  took  his  own 
stand  upon  those  which  the  great  body  of  his  countrymen 
reprobated  as  criminal,  or  derided  as  paradoxical.     He 

25  stood  up  for  divorce  and  regicide.  He  attacked  the  pre- 
vailing systems  of  education.  His  radiant  and  beneficent 
career  resembled  that  of  the  god  of  light  and  fertility. 

"  Nitor  in  adversum  ;  nee  me,  qui  caetera,  vincit 
Impetus,  et  rapido  contrarius  evehor  orbi." 

30  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  prose  writings  of  Milton 
should,  in  our  time,  be  so  little  read.  As  compositions, 
they  deserve  the  attention  of  every  man  who  wishes  to 
become  acquainted  with  the  full  power  of  the  English 
language.     They  abound  with  passages  compared  with 


MILTON.  6 1 

which  the  finest  declamations  of  Burke  sink  into  insignifi- 
cance. They  are  a  perfect  field  of  cloth  of  gold.  The 
style  is  stiff  with  gorgeous  embroidery.  Not  even  in  the 
earlier  books  of  the  Paradise  Lost  has  the  great  poet  ever 
risen  higher  than  in  those  parts  of  his  controversial  works  5 
in  which  his  feelings,  excited  by  conflict,  find  a  vent  in 
bursts  of  devotional  and  lyrical  rapture.  It  is,  to  borrow 
his  own  majestic  language,  "a  sevenfold  chorus  of  halle- 
lujahs and  harping  symphonies." 

We  had  intended  to  look  more  closely  at  these  perform-  10 
ances,  to  analyze  the  peculiarities  of  the  diction,  to  dwell 
at  some  length  on  the  sublime  wisdom  of  the  Areopagitica 
and  the  nervous  rhetoric  of  the  Iconoclast,  and  to  point 
out  some  of  those  magnificent  passages  which  occur  in 
the  Treatise  of  Reformation,  and  the  Animadversiofis  o?i  the  15 
Reinojistrant.  But  the  length  to  which  our  remarks  have 
already  extended  renders  this  impossible. 

We  must  conclude.  And  yet  we  can  scarcely  tear  our- 
selves away  from  the  subject.  The  days  immediately 
following  the  publication  of  this  relic  of  Milton  appear  to  20 
be  peculiarly  set  apart,  and  consecrated  to  his  memory. 
And  we  shall  scarcely  be  censured  if,  on  this  his  festival, 
we  be  found  lingering  near  his  shrine,  how  worthless 
soever  may  be  the  offering  which  we  bring  to  it.  While 
this  book  lies  on  our  table,  we  seem  to  be  contemporaries  25 
of  the  writer.  We  are  transported  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  back.  We  can  almost  fancy  that  we  are  visiting 
him  in  his  small  lodging  ;  that  we  see  him  sitting  at  the 
old  organ  beneath  the  faded  green  hangings  ;  that  we 
can  catch  the  quick  twinkle  of  his  eyes,  rolling  in  vain  to  30 
find  the  day  ;  that  we  are  reading  in  the  lines  of  his  noble 
countenance  the  proud  and  mournful  history  of  his  glory 
and  his  affiiction.  We  image  to  ourselves  the  breathless 
silence  in  which  we  should  listen  to  his  slightest  word, 


62  MILTON. 

the  passionate  veneration  with  which  we  should  kneel  to 
kiss  his  hand  and  weep  upon  it,  the  earnestness  with 
which  we  should  endeavor  to  console  him,  if  indeed  such 
a  spirit  could  need  consolation,  for  the  neglect  of  an  age 
5  unworthy  of  his  talents  and  his  virtues,  the  eagerness 
with  which  we  should  contest  with  his  daughters,  or  with 
his  Quaker  friend  Elwood,  the  privilege  of  reading  Homer 
to  him,  or  of  taking  down  the  immortal  accents  which 
flowed  from  his  lips. 

lo  These  are  perhaps  foolish  feelings.  Yet  we  cannot  be 
ashamed  of  them ;  nor  shall  we  be  sorry  if  what  we  have 
written  shall  in  any  degree  excite  them  in  other  minds. 
We  are  not  much  in  the  habit  of  idolizing  either  the 
living  or  the  dead.     And  we  think  that  there  is  no  more 

15  certain  indication  of  a  weak  and  ill-regulated  intellect 
than  that  propensity  which,  for  want  of  a  better  name, 
we  will  venture  to  christen  Boswellism.  But  there  are  a 
few  characters  which  have  stood  the  closest  scrutiny  and 
the  severest  tests,  which  have  been  tried  in  the  furnace 

20  and  have  proved  pure,  which  have  been  weighed  in  the 
balance  and  have  not  been  found  wanting,  which  have 
been  declared  sterling  by  the  general  consent  of  man- 
kind, and  which  are  visibly  stamped  with  the  image  and 
superscription  of  the  Most  High.     These  great  men  we 

25  trust  that  we  know  how  to  prize ;  and  of  these  was 
Milton.  The  sight  of  his  books,  the  sound  of  his 
name,  are  pleasant  to  us.  His  thoughts  resemble  those 
celestial  fruits  and  flowers  which  the  Virgin  Martyr  of 
Massinger  sent  down  from  the   gardens  of  Paradise  to 

30  the  earth,  and  which  were  distinguished  from  the  pro- 
ductions of  other  soils,  not  only  by  superior  bloom  and 
sweetness,  but  by  miraculous  eflicacy  to  invigorate  and 
to  heal.  They  are  powerful,  not  only  to  delight,  but  to 
elevate  and  purify.     Nor  do  we  envy  the  man  who  can 


MILTON.  63 

Study  either  the  life  or  the  writings  of  the  great  poet 
and  patriot  without  aspiring  to  emulate,  not  indeed  the 
sublime  works  with  which  his  genius  has  enriched  our 
literature,  but  the  zeal  with  which  he  labored  for  the 
public  good,  the  fortitude  with  which  he  endured  every  5 
private  calamity,  the  lofty  disdain  with  which  he  looked 
down  on  temptations  and  dangers,  the  deadly  hatred 
which  he  bore  to  bigots  and  tyrants,  and  the  faith  which 
he  so  sternly  kept  with  his  country  and  with  his  fame. 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


Page  1.  — 1.  6.  In  1649,  ori  the  establishment  of  the  Common- 
wealth, the  new  office  of  Latin  Secretary,  or  Secretary  of  Foreign 
Tongues,  was  created,  and  Milton  appointed  its  first  occupant.  The 
Popish  Trials  and  Rye-House  Plot  belong  more  than  thirty  years 
later,  after  Milton's  death  and  during  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  See 
Green's  History  of  the  English  People,  Bk.  VIII.  Ch.  11. 

1.  8.     See  Milton's  sonnets  (XXI.  and  XXII.)  to  Cyriac  Skinner. 

1.  17.  The  dissolution  of  the  Oxford  Parliament,  in  1683,  marked 
the  end  of  the  Popish  Trials  and  the  failure  of  the  Whig  plan  to 
exclude  the  Catholic  James  II.  and  his  children  from  succession  to 
the  throne.  It  was  followed  by  the  Rye-House  Plot  to  assassinate 
the  king. 

Page  2. — 1.  22.  See  Milton's  sonnet  XI.  A  brief  extract 
from  the  de  Doctrrna  Christiana,  in  which  non-classical  words  or 
uses  are  italicized,  will  serve  for  an  illustration  of  Macaulay's 
meaning :  "  Non  ergo  [agit]  de  ea  [fide]  quae  coram  hominibus 
X-asyX-xxxxvaxodiO  jiistificat,  cum  haec  hypocritica  esse  possit  :  quae  utilis, 
quae  vera,  quae  viva,  quae  salvifica  est,  ex  ea  dicit  apostolus  non  sola 
sed  ex  operibus  etiam  nosjustijicari.''^ 

1.  28.  "  Horace's  wit,  and  Virgil's  state. 

He  did  not  steal,  but  emulate ! 
And  when  like  them  he  would  appear, 
Their  garb,  but  not  their  clothes,  did  wear." 

Denham  (1615-1668)  On  Mr.  Abraham  Corvley  (1618-1667). 

Page  3. — 1.  5.  Arianism  denied  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity. 
For  a  brief  summary  of  Milton's  belief  as  formulated  in  the  Treatise 
of  Christian  Doctrine,  see  prefatory  memoir  of  Milton  in  Masson's 
3  vol.  edition  of  his  Poetical  Works  (Lond.  1874),  pp.  Ixvii  ff. 

1.  7.  See  Paradise  Lost,  VI.  699  ff.;  VII.  163  ff.;  X.  68  ff.;  XI. 
20  ff. 

"  His  son  of  God,  though  an  unspeakal^ly  exalted  being,  is 
dependent,  inferior,  not  self-existent,   and  could  be  merged  in  the 


6S  NOTES. 

Father's  person  or  obliterated  entirely  without  the  least  diminution 
of  Almighty  perfection."     Richard  Garnett,  Lt/e  of  Milton,  p.  159. 

1.  19.  The  Defensio p7'o  Populo  Anglicano  was  written  by  Milton 
while  he  was  Latin  Secretary.  It  attempted  the  vindication  of  the 
English  people  for  the  execution  of  Charles  I.  See  p.  46,  and  note 
on  1.  I. 

Page  4. — 1.  34.  "  Higher  argument 

Remains,  sufficient  of  itself  to  raise 
That  name,  unless  an  age  too  late,  or  cold 
Climate,  or  years,  damp  my  intended  wing 
Depressed ;  and  much  they  may  if  all  be  mine, 
Not  hers  who  brings  it  nightly  to  my  ear." 

P.  L.  Bk.  IX.  II.  42-47. 

"  There  prevailed  in  [Milton's]  time  an  opinion,  that  the  world  was 
in  its  decay,  and  that  we  have  had  the  misfortune  to  be  produced  in 
the  decrepitude  of  Nature.  .  .  .  Milton  appears  to  suspect  that 
souls  partake  of  the  general  degeneracy,  and  is  not  without  some  fear 
that  his  book  is  to  be  written  in  an  age  too  late  for  heroic  poesy." 
Johnson  (i  709-1 781).     Life  of  Milton,  in  Lives  of  the  Poets. 

Page  5. — 1.  3.  A  careful  comparison  of  the  first  part  of  Dr. 
Channing's  essay  on  Milton  ( JVorl's,  Vol.  I.),  first  published  at  Boston 
in  1826,  with  this  portion  of  Macaulay's  essay,  may  very  profitably 
be  made.  "  He  [Milton]  had  not  learned  the  superficial  doctrine  of 
a  later  day,  that  poetry  flourishes  most  in  an  uncultivated  soil,  and 
that  imagination  shapes  its  brightest  visions  from  the  mists  of  a 
superstitious  age  ;  and  he  had  no  dread  of  accumulating  knowledge, 
lest  it  should  oppress  and  smother  his  genius." 

1.  8.  The  argument  which  occupies  the  next  few  pages  should  be 
thoroughly  analyzed  and  discussed.  First  is  stated  the  proposition 
to  be  proved  ;  then  each  paragraph  presents  a  new  thought,  falling 
into  its  logical  place  in  the  demonstration.  Macaulay's  paragraph- 
ing deserves  careful  study.  Summarize  into  a  single  sentence  the 
gist  of  each  paragraph. 

Page  6. — I.  I.  Montague,  Charles,  Earl  of  Halifax  (1661- 
17 1 5).     See  Macaulay's  notice  of  him  in  his  essay  on  Addison. 

L  2.  Jf^/^^/(?  (1676-1 745),  father,  or  son  ?  Macaulay's  essay  on 
Horace  Walpole  discusses  both. 

1.  12.     Machine,  more  properly  'instrument.' 

1.  25.  The  fall  of  an  apple  is  said  to  have  led  Newton  to  his 
greatest   discovery.      Did   Newton   in    that   case   "look   less  at  in- 


NOTES.  69 

dividuals  "  ?  Has  the  advance  of  modern  science  been  accomplished 
by  the  substitution  of  "  vague  phrases  "  for  "  images  "  ?  When  we 
look  on  the  starry  sky,  do  we  see  less,  or  more,  than  the  ancients 
did?  Was  it  because  of  the  rudeness,  or  the  perfection,  of  the 
Greek  language,  that  its  literature  is  so  great  ?  Are  the  continually 
recurring  '  Homeric  epithets '  of  the  Iliad  signs  of  imagination,  or 
of  conventionality  ? 

1.  32.  Shaftesbury  (167 1 -17 13),  the  third  Earl  of,  the  friend  of 
Pope  ;  not  to  be  confounded  with  his  grandfather,  so  terribly 
satirized  by  Dryden  in  Absalom  and  Achitophel. 

1.  33.  Helvetius,  Claude  Adrian  (1715-1771);  a  Frenchman  whose 
most  important  work,  de  V Esprit,  was  condemned  as  immoral,  and 
ordered  burnt  by  the  hangman.  It  contended  that  enlightened 
selfishness  is  a  sufficient  basis  for  morality  —  that  *  Honesty  is  thfe 
best  policy.^ 

Page  7. —  1.  4.  AHobe ;  for  what  offense  were  her  children 
slain  by  Apollo  and  Diana?  Such  allusions  to  classical  mythology 
should  always  be  carefully  looked  up  in  a  Classical  Dictionary. 
The  story  is  told  in  Ovid's  Afetamorphoses,  VI.  146  ff. 

Aurora.  Homer  calls  her  '  rosy-fingered,' '  saffron-robed,'  and  says 
that  she  '  opens  the  portals  of  the  day.'  Why  "  the  blushes  of  his 
Aurora  "  ? 

1.  g.  Bernard  de  Mandeville  (1670-1733)  tried  to  show  in  The 
Fable  of  the  Bees  that  vice  benefits  society.     The  Moral  is  : 

"  Then  leave  complaints  :  fools  only  strive 
To  make  a  great  an  honest  hive. 

So  vice  is  beneficial  found, 

When  it's  by  justice  lopped  and  bound." 

The  contemporaries  Mandeville  and  Shaftesbury  (see  above,  1.  7) 
represent  the  two  extremes  of  popular  philosophy  in  their  day.  P^or 
an  interesting  account  of  the  views  of  both,  see  the  essays  on  the 
two  in  Leslie  Stephen's  Essays  on  Freethinking  and  Plainspeaking. 

1.  20.  Discuss  thoroughly  Macaulay's  definition  of  poetry. 
Wordsworth  calls  poetry  *'  the  breath  and  finer  spirit  of  all 
knowledge,"  and  "  the  image  of  man  and  nature "  ;  Arnold,  "  a 
criticism  of  life."  Coleridge  says  :  "  High  poetry  is  the  translation 
of  reality  into  the  ideal.  .  .  .  The  poet  is  an  historian,  upon  con- 
dition  of    moral   power   being   the    only    thing   in   the    Universe." 


70 


NOTES. 


{LecUire  on  Milton.)  Channing  says  in  his  essay  on  Milton  :  "  In 
many  poems  there  is  more  of  truth  than  in  many  histories  and 
philosophic  theories.  The  fictions  of  genius  are  often  the  sublimest 
verities.  ...  It  is  not  true  that  the  poet  paints  a  life  which  does 
not  exist."  References  for  further  reading  are  :  Cook's  Sidney's 
Defense  of  Poesy  ;  Matthew  Arnold,  The  Study  of  Poetry  (Essays  in 
Criticism,  2nd  Series);  Stedman,  The  Nature  and  Ele?nents  of 
Poetry ;  Wordsworth,  Of  the  Principles  of  Poetry  and  the  *  Lyrical 
Ballads';  Cook,  The  Art  of  Poetry. 

11.  28-31.     Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  V.  i. 

Page  8. —  1.  I.  "[Poetry's]  object  is  truth,  not  individual  and 
local,  but  general,  and  operative."     Wordsworth,  Principles  of  Poetry. 

1.  32.  In  Plato's  dialogue  of  Ion  P.  533,  D  :  534  (Jowett  trans., 
pp.  501,  502):  "The  gift  which  you  possess  of  speaking  excellently 
about  Homer  is  not  an  art,  but,  as  I  was  just  saying,  an  inspiration  ; 
there  is  a  divinity  moving  you."  But  the  '  inspiration  '  is  only  that 
which  is  claimed  for  the  poet.  "  And  as  the  Corybantian 
revelers,  when  they  dance,  are  not  in  their  right  mind,  so  the  lyric 
poets  .  .  .  ;  but  when  falling  under  the  power  of  music  and 
metre,  they  are  inspired  and  possessed."  Macaulay's  statement 
lacks  accuracy. 

Page  9. —  1.  24.  "In  an  intellectual  nature,  framed  for  prog- 
ress and  for  higher  modes  of  being,  there  must  be  creative  energies, 
powers  of  original  and  ever-growing  thought ;  and  poetry  is  the 
form  in  which  these  energies  are  chiefly  manifested."      Channing. 

Page  10. — 1.  4.  Rabbinical  literature,  the  writings  of  the 
Hebrew  masters  of  the  law  and  teachers,  or  '  rabbis.' 

1.  10.  Petrarch  (i 304-1 374),  an  Italian  poet,  whose  lyrics  in  praise 
of  his  love  Laura  constitute  his  greatest  claim  to  immortality. 

1.  13.      Cowley,  see  p.  14,  1.  28. 

1.  18.     Augusta7i,  see  dictionary. 

1.  28.     Epistle  to  Manso,  written  while  Milton  was  in  Italy,  1638. 

Page  11.— 11.  4-7.  P'  L.  IV.  551-554- 
Page  12. —  1.  29,  See  Arabian  Nights,  AH  Baba  and  the  Forty 
Thieves. 

1.  32.  Dryden's  opera.  The  State  of  Innocence  and  the  Fall  of 
Man,  was  a  dramatization  of  P.  L. 

Page  13. —  1.  8.  There  is  here  a  personal  touch  of  a  feeling 
peculiarly  strong  in  Macaulay.  "  Nothing  caused  him  so  much 
pleasure  ...  as  a  visit  to  any  scene  that  he  had  known  in  his 
earlier  years."     Trevelyan's  Life  and  Letters  of  Lord  Macaulay. 


NOTES.  71 

1.  31.  Comus,  V Allegro,  and  //  Penseroso  were  among  the  earliest 
of  Milton's  poems  ;  Satnsoji  Agonistes  was  his  very  latest. 

Page  14. —  1.  15.     Harold,  the  hero  of  Byron's  Childe  Harold. 

1.  28.  Aeschylus  (525-456  B.C.),  Sophocles  (495-405  B.C.),  and 
Euripides  (480-406  B.C.),  were  the  three  great  writers  of  Greek 
tragedy. 

Page  15. — 1.  10.  Clytenifiestra  to  Aga?nem)W}t,  \n  AQScYijlnsi's, 
tragedy  of  Againemnon  ;  descriptioti  of  the  seven  Argive  chiefs,  from 
his  Seven  against  Thebes. 

1.  29.  '^  sad  Electro's  poet"  (see  Milton,  Sonnet  VIII.),  Euripides. 
That  this  passage  does  not  represent  Macaulay's  mature  judgment 
may  be  seen  from  the  marginal  notes  penciled  in  his  copy  of  the 
Greek  tragedians.  "  I  can  hardly  account  for  the  contempt  which, 
at  school  and  college,  I  felt  for  Euripides.  I  own  that  I  like  him 
now  better  than  Sophocles."  And  in  a  letter  to  Ellis  from  India  in 
1835:  "I  could  not  bear  Euripides  at  college.  I  now  read  my 
recantation.     He  has  faults,  undoubtedly.     But  what  a  poet !  " 

1.  30.     See  Midsiini7ner  Night'' s  Dream,  IV.  i. 

Page  16.  —  1.  18.  Masqice,  see  Century  Dictionary.  At  the 
time  when  Comus  was  written  the  Masque  as  a  form  of  private 
theatrical  for  festive  and  ceremonial  celebrations  was  at  the  height 
of  its  popularity  in  England.  The  greatest  poets  and  composers  of 
the  day  were  called  upon  for  words  and  music,  prodigious  sums 
were  lavished  on  rich  costumes  and  elaborate  stage  machinery,  and 
the  highest  personages,  including  even  the  king  himself,  took  part 
in  the  presentations.  For  a  detailed  account  of  the  most  celebrated, 
sumptuous,  and  expensive  of  them  all,  given  at  Court  by  the  lawyers 
of  the  Four  Inns,  at  the  enormous  total  cost  of  ;/^2r,ooo  for  a  single 
acting,  see  Masson's  Life  of  Miltoji,  Vol.  I.  pp.  579-587. 

1.  21.  Faithful  Shepherdess,  by  John  Fletcher,  a  contemporary 
of  Shakespeare.  The  Avtinta  and  Pastor  Fido  are  Italian  pastoral 
dramas,  by  Tasso  (i 544-1 595)  and  Guarini  (1537-161 2)  respectively. 

Page  17.  — 1.  !•  It  is  an  old  custom  for  the  London  chimney- 
sweeps to  celebrate  May-day  with  a  special  parade,  in  fantastic 
dresses. 

1.  19.  Letter  to  Milton,  prefixed  to  Comus  in  Masson's  3  vol.  ed. 
of  Milton's  Poetical  Works,  p.  167. 

1.  21.  Theocritus,  first  and  greatest  of  pastoral  poets,  wrote  in 
the  Doric  dialect  of  Greek.  Hence  the  word  Doric  connotes  both 
the  subject  matter  of  nature  poetry  and  the  style  of  the  Greek 
pastoral. 


72  NOTES. 

"  Thus  sang  the  uncouth  swain  to  the  oaks  and  hills, 
While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals  gray ; 
He  touched  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills, 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay." 

Lycidas,  11.  186-189. 

1.  28.     His  own  good  Genius,  the  Attendant  Spirit  in  Comus. 

1.  32.      Cof?ius,  11.  1012-1013. 

1.  34  ff.  Find  in  Coifius  976  ff.  the  original  of  each  phrase  in 
these  four  lines  of  Macaulay. 

Page  18.  — 1.  22.  A  full  appreciation  of  Macaulay's  prolonged 
comparison  of  Dante  and  Milton  can  be  gained  only  by  an  acquaint- 
ance with  the  works  referred  to.  Such  an  acquaintance  is  well 
worth  making.  Dante  was  the  greatest  poet  of  mediaeval,  as  Milton 
of  modern,  Christianity.  The  standard  translations  of  Dante  are,  in 
poetry  Gary's,  Dean  Plumptre's,  and  Longfellow's,  and  in  prose 
Charles  Eliot  Norton's.  Both  Longfellow's  and  Plumptre's  are  line 
for-line  translations.  For  the  benefit  of  those  who  will  verify  in 
either  of  these  the  successive  references,  the  following  notes  quote, 
so  far  as  possible,  the  line  as  well  as  the  canto  of  each  allusion. 

L  30.  In  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics  each  picture  was  used  as 
an  arbitrary  symbol  something  like  the  character  of  an  alphabet, 
not,  as  in  other  picture-writing,  to  denote  the  thing  represented  ; 
e.g.,  a  calf  stood  for  the  syllable  Au  ;  a  heron,  for  Ba. 

Page  19.  —  L    14.     /;//^r;/^  XIL  4-10. 

L  17.     Ibid.  XVL  94-104. 

1.  18.     Ibid.  IX.  1 1 2- 1 16. 

L  25.     P.  L.  I.  194-209. 

\.  28.     Ibid.  IV.  987-988. 

L  30.  Teneriffcy  a  volcano  in  the  Canaries  ;  Atlas,  a  mass  of 
mountains  in  Northern  Africa.  What  classical  myth  was  connected 
with  the  latter.? 

L  33.     /;//  XXI.  58-64. 

Page  20.  — L  9.     P.  L.  XI.  477-493- 

L  16.     hif.  XXIX.  46-51. 

L  29.     Ibid.  I.  117. 

L  31.     Ibid.  III.  9. 

1.  32.     Ibid.  IX.  52-60. 

1.  33.     Ibid.  XXI. 

Page  21.  —L  i.    Ibid.  XXXIV.  70-80. 

L  2.  Purgatorio,  the  second  of  the  three  divisions  of  the  Divina 
Commedia,  describes  the  gradual  ascent  of  the  Mount  of  Purgatory. 


NOTES.  73 

1.  3.      Purg.  IX.  1 1  2-1 14. 

1.  10.  Affiadis,  a  common  name  for  the  heroes  of  chivalry 
romance.  The  earliest  and  most  famous  of  the  Amadis  romances 
was  the  Amadis  of  Gaul,  probably  originally  Portuguese  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  Its  translations  and  imitations  enjoyed  the 
widest  popularity  throughout  Europe,  until  the  inimitable  satire  of 
Cervantes's  Don  Quixote,  early  in  the  seventeenth  century,  struck 
the  death-blow  to  the  exaggerations  and  extravagances  of  the  entire 
class. 

1.  33.  "  Another  inconvenience  of  Milton's  design  is  that  it 
requires  the  description  of  what  cannot  be  described,  the  agency  of 
spirits."  Johnson,  Life  of  Milton.  Johnson's  is  the  greatest  of  the 
"  eminent  names  "  alluded  to. 

Page  23.  — 1.2.  The  concreteness  of  Christianity  is  not,  as 
one  might  infer  from  Macaulay,  one  of  Gibbon's  secondary  causes 
of  its  success.  The  primary  cause,  according  to  Gibbon,  was  "  the 
convincing  evidence  of  the  doctrine  itself,  and  the  ruling  providence 
of  its  great  Author."  The  secondary  causes  he  recapitulates  as 
follows  :  "  exclusive  zeal,  the  immediate  expectation  of  another 
world,  the  claim  of  miracles,  the  practice  of  high  virtue,  and  the 
constitution  of  the  primitive  church."  Decline  and  Fall  of  the 
Roman  E??ipire,  Chap.  XV. 

1.  15.  Academy,  Portico,  denote  the  Platonic  and  the  Stoic 
schools,  respectively,  of  Greek  philosophy. 

1.  16.     Fasces  of  the  Lictor,  emblematic  of  the  Roman  i7nperium. 

1.  20.     St.  George,  patron  saint  of  what  country  ? 

1.  21,  St.  Elmo,  a  corruption  of  Erasmus,  who  became  the 
patron  saint  of  the  Mediterranean  sailors.  What  is  "  St.  Elmo's 
Fire,"  and  what  was  it  called  by  the  Romans  .^ 

1.  23.  Cecilia,  patroness  of  music,  and  regarded  as  the  inventor 
of  the  organ.     She  is  said  to  have  suffered  martyrdom  in  230  a.d. 

Page  24.  —  1.  34.  Matthew  Arnold,  in  A  French  Critic  on 
Milton  {Mixed  Essays),  falls  foul  of  Macaulay  for  this  passage,  not 
without  excuse.  Milton  was  no  juggler  with  words,  attempting  to 
bewilder  his  reader  in  a  maze  of  ambiguities.  If  he  was  "philo- 
sophically in  the  wrong "  it  was  not  of  his  own  choice.  Not  only 
did  he  write  in  an  age  of  philosophers  and  theologians,  he  was 
himself  the  greatest  English  scholar,  philosopher,  and  theologian 
of  his  time.  His  limitations  were  the  limitations  of  the  age  in 
which  he  lived.  Whatever  inconsistencies  appear,  were  inevitable 
in  the  attempt  of  the  Puritan  to  reconcile  revelation,  as  he  under- 


74  NOTES. 

stood  it,  with  reason.  The  extraordinary  influence  of  F.  L.  on 
subsequent  religious  thought  was  due,  not  to  the  obscurity,  but  to 
the  clearness,  of  its  conceptions  ;  to  Milton's  skill  in  reconciling, 
rather  than  avoiding,  difficulties. 

Page  25.  — 1.  24.  Don  Juan  asks  to  supper  the  ghost  of  the 
man  he  had  murdered.  The  story,  originally  Spanish,  forms  the 
basis  of  Moliere's  Festin  de  Fierre,  Mozart's  Don  Giovaimi,  and 
other  versions. 

1.  28.     Inf.  X. 

I.  32.  Dante  first  saw  Beatrice  when  he  was  nine  years  old,  and 
from  that  time  worshiped  her  with  a  passionate  and  ideal  devotion^ 
the  story  of  which  forms  his  F/ta  Nuova.  {The  New  Life ;  trans- 
lated by  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti,  in  Dante  ajid  his  Circle,  which  see.) 
After  Beatrice's  death  at  the  age  of  twenty-four,  she  gradually 
became  transformed  for  Dante  into  the  ideal  of  divine  philosophy, 
the  inspiration  and  centre  of  his  life.  "  Beatrice  is  the  symbol  of 
Divine  Science,  of  Revelation  as  distinct  from  Reason,  of  Love 
superior  to  Skill."  J.  A.  Symonds,  An  Introdtiction  to  the  Study 
of  Dante.  As  such  she  meets  him  in  Purgatory,  and  is  his  guide 
through  Paradise.  The  interview  referred  to  is  to  be  found  in 
Furg.  XXX. 

Page  26. — 1.  8.  Canto  IV.  of  Tasso's  (i  544-1 595)  Gerusa- 
levime  Liberata,  describing  a  council  of  the  devils  in  Hell,  may 
well  be  compared  with  the  similar  passage  in  F.  L.  (I.  300  ff.). 
A  single  illustrative  stanza  from  Hunt's  translation  [Jerusalem 
Delivered),  will  bring  out   Macaulay's  meaning  : 

"  And  oh  !   what  strange,  what  fearful  forms  were  there  ! 
What  death,  what  terror  in  their  eyeballs  glare  ! 
Some  stamped  with  brutal  hoofs  the  burning  ground, 
And  showed  a  human  head,  with  serpents  crowned, 
And  as  their  monstrous  tails  behind  them  rolled, 
Lashed  the  redundant  lengths,  and  twined  in  many  a  fold." 
\.  9.     Klopstock  (1724-1803),  in  his  Messias,  Canto  II. 
\.  14.     See  p.  15,  and  note  on  p.  14,  1.  28. 

II.  24-25.     What  gods  are  referred  to  } 

1,  27.  None  of  the  gods  of  Hindostan  are  ordinarily  represented 
as  seven-headed.  Vishnu,  however,  is  often  represented  as  seated 
on  a  seven-headed  serpent. 

1.  32,     For  the  story  of  Prometheus  see  Gayley's  Classic  Myths. 

Page  27.  —  1.  27.  Those  modern  beggars  for  fame.  Cf. 
Macaulay's    essay    on    Moore's   Life   of  Lord  Byron,      "  [Byron] 


NOTES.  75 

always  describes  himself  as  a  man  of  the  same  kind  with  his 
favorite  creations,  as  a  man  whose  heart  had  been  withered,  whose 
capacity  for  happiness  was  gone  and  could  not  be  restored,  but 
whose  invincible  spirit  dared  the  worst  that  could  befall  him,  here 
or  hereafter.  .  .  . 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  remarkable  man  owed  the  vast 
influence  which  he  exercised  over  his  contemporaries  at  least  as 
much  to  his  gloomy  egotism  as  to  the  real  power  of  his  poetry." 

Page  28.  —  1.  lO.  Both  Sardinian  and  Corsican  honey  is 
alluded  to  by  Virgil,  Horace,  Ovid,  and  other  Latin  writers,  as 
bitter.  This  bitterness  was  supposed  to  be  due  to  certain  flowers 
on  which  the  bees  fed  in  those  islands  (Pliny,  H.  N.  30,* 4),  but  that 
this  bitterness  came  from  the  soil  seems  to  be  Macaulay's  addition 
to  the  story. 

1.  13.     Job  X.  22. 

1.  24.  To  call  Milton  a  '  lover '  is,  it  must  be  admitted,  to  strain 
the  term,  though  to  call  him  '  unfortunate '  in  love  is  to  put  it 
mildly.  He  was  thirty-four  when  he  married  his  first  wife,  Mary 
Powell,  and  just  twice  her  age,  and  she  deserted  him  almost  as 
suddenly  as  he  had  married  her.  His  second  wife,  indeed,  he 
tenderly  loved,  though  he  never  saw  her,  and  lost  her  fifteen 
months  after  their  marriage.  But  to  compare  anything  in  Milton's 
experience  with  Dante's  worship  of  Beatrice  is  to  lose  sight  of  the 
truth  under  the  temptation  of  a  rhetorical  opportunity. 

1.  33.  Literature  was,  it  is  true,  at  a  very  low  ebb  in  England 
during  the  last  years  of  Milton's  life,  but  Macaulay's  denunciation 
is  indiscriminate.  Dryden's  is  not  a  name  to  be  dismissed  witli 
such  a  line  as  this,  and  it  was  during  just  these  years  that  Dryden 
was  rising  to  undisputed  eminence  in  popular  and  royal  favor. 

Page  29. — 1.  16.  That  Macaulay's  panegyric  of  Milton  has 
not  been  suffered  to  stand  in  all  points  unchallenged,  the  following 
extract  from  Matthew  Arnold's  A  French  Critic  on  Milton  {Mixed 
Essays)  may  testify  :  "  And  Milton's  temper  !  His  '  sedate  and 
majestic  patience'!  his  freedom  from  'asperity'!  If  there  is  a 
defect  which,  above  all  others,  is  signal  in  Milton,  which  injures  him 
even  intellectually,  which  limits  him  as  a  poet,  it  is  the  defect 
common  to  him  with  the  whole  Puritan  party  to  which  he  belonged, 
—  the  fatal  defect  of  temper.  He  and  they  have  a  thousand  merits, 
but  they  are  unamiable.  Excuse  them  how  one  will,  Milton's 
asperity  and  acerbity,  his  want  of  sweetness  of  temper,  of  the 
Shakespearian  largeness  and  indulgence,  are  undeniable." 


76  NOTES. 

But  this  as  a  corrective  of  Macaulay's  passage  is,  after  all,  no 
nearer  the  truth  than  Macaulay  himself.  It  is  true  that  Milton's 
prose  writings  abundantly  justify  Mr.  Arnold's  'asperity,'  'acerbity,' 
'want  of  sweetness  of  temper.'  But  there  is  also  evidence  to  justify 
the  statement  that  Milton's  "  was  a  temper  which  no  sufferings 
could  render  sullen  or  fretful."  The  truth  is,  that  we  must  dis- 
tinguish between  Milton,  the  controversialist  and  partisan,  and 
Milton,  the  poet  and  man.  Mr.  Arnold  has  in  mind  the  first, 
Macaulay  the  second.  Milton  lived  in  a  time  of  controversy,  of 
violence,  of  fierce  passions,  of  civil  war  ;  he  himself  bore  a  principal 
part  in  the  fight ;  and  tolerance,  indulgence,  Shakespearian  largeness 
and  sweetness  of  temper,  are  not  the  virtues  of  such  a  time.  But 
when  to  private  affliction  had  been  added  public  calamity,  when, 
with  his  property  swept  away,  his  children  undutiful,  his  eyesight 
gone,  and  his  body  racked  with  a  painful  disease,  he  turned  in  old 
age  to  the  composition  of  the  poem  which  he  had  planned  in  his 
youth,  we  find  that  Macaulay's  words  of  him  are  true.  It  was  of 
him  at  that  time  that  his  daughter  said,  he  was  "  delightful  company, 
the  life  of  the  conversation,  and  that  on  account  of  a  flow  of  subject 
and  an  unaffected  cheerfulness  and  civility."  "He  was  a  cheerful 
companion,"  says  another  ;  "  .  .  .  his  conversation  was  lively,  but 
with  dignity."  Certainly  here  was  "a  high  and  majestic  patience," 
"  a  temper  which  no  sufferings  could  render  sullen  or  fretful." 

1.  26.  There  is  some  rhetorical  exaggeration  here.  Masson 
reckons  Milton's  income  after  the  Restoration  as  the  equivalent,  all 
told,  of  about  ;!^700  a  year  at  the  present  time.  Previously  both  his 
property  and  his  income  had  been  much  greater.  The  Great  Fire 
in  London,  of  1666,  inflicted  additional  loss. 

Page  30. —  1.  3.  ^' His  conception  of  ^rr,"  etc.  "What  we 
know  of  Milton's  character,  in  domestic  relations,  is,  that  he  was 
severe  and  arbitrary.  His  family  consisted  of  women  ;  and  there 
appears  in  his  books  something  like  a  Turkish  contempt  for  females, 
as  subordinate  and  inferior  beings.  .  .  .  He  thought  women 
made  only  for  obedience,  and  man  only  for  rebellion."  Johnson's 
Life  of  Milton  in  Lives  of  the  English  Poets. 

\.  16.     Filicaja  (1642-1707),  an  Italian  writer  of  patriotic  sonnets. 

I.  17.     Petrarch.     See  note  on  p.  10,  1.  10. 

II.  20-24.     Find  the  sonnets  referred  to. 

Page  31. —  L  15.  Oromasdes,  or  Ormuzd,  and  Arimanes,  or 
Ahriman,  are  the  spirits  of  good  and  of  evil,  respectively,  in  the 
Parsee  religion. 


NOTES.  yy 

Page  32.— 1.  i.  The  Hon  in  the  fable.  Aesop  (Teubner  ed.) 
63  ;  La  Fontaine  III.  10.  A  lion,  seeing  a  picture  of  a  lion  con- 
quered by  a  man,  said,  "  If  we  lions  knew  how  to  paint,  you  should 
see  us,  and  more  justly,  conquerors." 

I.  4.  Roundheads,  the  Puritans  ;  so  called  by  the  Royalists  from 
the  close-cropped  hair  of  servants  and  apprentices. 

II.  6  ff.  The  authorities  here  mentioned  by  Milton  are  long  since 
out  of  date,  with  the  exception  of  Clarendon's  History.  This  still 
remains  unrivaled  as  a  storehouse  of  facts  ;  but  for  the  general 
reader  Green's  History  of  the  English  People  (Vol.  III.  Chaps.  V.- 
XII.)  stands  easily  first.  Disraeli's  Commentaries  on  Charles  I.  now 
takes  the  lead  as  a  defense  of  the  royal  cause  ;  but  never  since 
Carlyle's  CromzvelVs  Letters  have  the  Puritans  stood  in  need  of 
champions,  or  lacked  their  full  share  of  popular  sympathy. 

1.  27.  Knowledge  of  the  main  facts  of  English  history  during 
the  reigns  of  Charles  I.  and  James  II.  is  necessary  to  an  under- 
standing of  this  part  of  the  essay.  References  to  Green  on  specific 
points  will  be  to  the  LListory  of  the  English  People. 

Page  33.  — 1.  17.  See  Green,  Vol.  III.  pp.  138-139  ;  Masson's 
Life  of  Milton,  Vol.  I.  pp.  673-685. 

1.  29.  There  is  a  certain  class  of  men,  the  Tories  of  Macaulay's 
own  day.     Macaulay  was  himself  an  ardent  Whig. 

Page  34.— 1.  8.    P.  Z.,  I.  164,  165. 

1.  14.     One  sect,  the  Roman  Catholics. 

1.  16.      One  part  of  the  empire,  Ireland. 

1.  19.  In  1825,  the  date  of  Macaulay's  essay,  measures  were 
being  urged  to  enable  the  Irish  Catholics  to  vote  and  hold  olifice. 
These  the  extreme  Tories  bitterly  opposed.  Macaulay's  argument 
is,  that  they  approve  just  that  portion  of  William's  policy  which  was 
most  unfortunate  and  unjust,  while  advocating  a  theory  of  govern- 
ment which  denies  him  any  right  to  the  throne.  They  hold  to  the 
doctrine  of  the  Divine  Right  of  Kings,  as  their  foreign  policy  to-day 
shows,  though  it  is  under  a  new  name  ;  they  deny  the  principles 
which  only  could  justify  the  revolution  ;  but  they  accept  the  revo- 
lution, not  for  the  blessings  which  it  brought,  but  for  the  evil  that 
it  did,  and  try  to  persuade  us  that  it  was  this  same  religious  question 
which  was  then  at  issue,  —  which  certainly  is  not  true. 

1.  28.     Somers,  Shrewsbury,  two  of  William's  ministers. 

Page  35. —  1.  3.  Ferdinand  the  Catholic.  Ferdinand  of  Ara- 
gon  (1452-1516),  who  married  Isabella  of  Castile.  It  was  under  the 
joint  reign  of   these  two  sovereigns  that  Spain  was  united  into  a 


yS  NOTES. 

single  kingdom,  the  Moors  driven  out,  the  New  World  discovered, 
and  the  Inquisition  introduced. 

1.  4.  Frederick  the  Protestant  (i  596-1632),  Frederick  V.,  Prince 
Palatine,  for  a  short  time  King  of  Bohemia  and  the  head  of  the 
Protestant  Princes  of  Germany. 

1.  13.  Oliver  Goldsmith's  (1728-1774)  History  of  England,  as 
well  as  the  abridgment  of  the  same  work,  here  referred  to,  a  part  of 
the  hack  work  to  which  he  was  forced  by  poverty. 

1.  24.  Macaulay  does  not  state  the  whole  case.  The  resolution 
was  that  the  King,  "  having  endeavored  to  subvert  the  constitution 
of  this  kingdom  by  breaking  the  original  contract  between  King  and 
People,  and  by  the  advice  of  Jesuits  and  other  wicked  people  having 
violated  the  fundamental  laws,  and  having  withdrawn  himself  out  of 
the  kingdom,  has  abdicated  the  Government,  and  that  the  throne  is 
thereby  vacant."  It  was  planned  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  just  the 
conclusion  that  Macaulay  draws,  in  order  to  win  all  parties  to  its 
support ;  it  was  purposely  illogical,  in  order  to  be  politic.  The 
Tory,  though  denying  the  right  of  the  nation  to  depose  its  king, 
could  support  the  resolution  on  the  theory  that  the  King's  flight 
constituted  a  voluntary  abdication.     Green,  IV.  pp.  33-34. 

Page  36. —1.  10.     Green,  IV.  p.  35. 

1.  28.  Ship  money,  Green,  Vol.  III.  pp.  173-178,  182-183.  Star 
Chamber,  Ibid.  III.  147.  Charles  in  his  efforts  to  avoid  calling  a 
parliament  exhausted  every  possible  expedient  to  raise  revenue. 
The  maritime  towns  had  formerly  in  time  of  war  furnished  ships  ; 
this  was  made  a  precedent  for  a  general  tax  of  the  kingdom  in  time 
of  peace.  The  Star  Chamber  was  a  court  of  officers  of  the  crown 
which  usurped  the  jurisdiction  of  other  courts  in  order  to  levy 
oppressive  fines,  which  went  into  the  royal  treasury. 

Page  37. — 1.  8.  The  Long  Parliament,  Green,  III.  Chap. 
VIII.  It  was  called  together  in  1640,  and  was  not  finally  dissolved 
until  1660. 

1.  19,  The  Convention  which  passed  the  resolution  declaring  the 
throne  vacant.  The  absence  of  the  King  made  impossible  the  legal 
summoning  of  Parliament. 

1.  21.     Green,  III.   134-137. 

Page  38.  — 1.  3.  Le  Koi  le  vent  (the  King  wishes  it),  a  phrase 
survivmg  from  Norman  times,  by  which  the  king's  assent  to  bills  in 
Parliament  is  signified. 

Page  39. — 1.  6.  Vandyke,  the  great  portrait  painter  of  the 
time. 


NOTES.  79 

Page  40. — 1.  II.  Strafford,  Sir  Thomas  Wentworth,  Earl  of 
See  Green,  III.  150-157,   196,  200-201,  203. 

1.  20.  The  Fifth-monarchy  men  believed  that  the  millennium  had 
come,  and  that  it  was  their  duty  to  overthrow  all  existing  govern- 
ments to  make  way  for  the  new  one,  the  monarchy  of  Jesus,  —  fifth, 
because  it  had  been  preceded  by  the  four  great  monarchies,  the 
Assyrian,  Persian,  Greek,  and  Roman,  foretold,  according  to  the 
common  interpretation,  in  the  Book  of  Daniel. 

1.  21.     Agag,  see  I.  Sam.  XV.  33. 

Page  41. — 1.  31.  Xeres,  or  Jeres,  an  important  town  of 
Spain,  in  the  province  of  Cadiz,  noted  for  its  wine-trade.  The  word 
sheriy  is  derived  from  the  name  of  the  town. 

Page  42.  —1.  17.     In  Orlando  Ftirioso,  XLIII.  78  ff. 

Page  44. — 1.  13.  Jeffreys  was  made  lord  high  chancellor  by 
James  after  the  "  Bloody  Circuit."     Green,  IV.  p.  9. 

1.  15.  James  II.  after  his  flight  from  England  crossed  from 
France  to  Ireland,  supported  by  French  troops,  and  was  there 
defeated  by  ^Yilliam  in  person  at  the  Battle  of  the  Boyne.  (Green, 
IV.  p.  51.) 

1.  29.  William  III.  was  the  son  of  James's  oldest  sister,  and  he 
married  Mary,  one  of  James's  daughters.  The  other  daughter, 
Anne,  joined  William  soon  after  his  landing. 

1.  32.     William  landed  Nov.  5,  1688. 

Page  45.  — 1.  i.     Charles  I.  was  beheaded  Jan.  30,  1649. 

Page  46.  —  1.  i.  Salmasius  was  reputed  the  greatest  scholar  of 
his  time.  He  was  employed  to  defend  the  memory  of  Charles,  and 
his  Defensio  Regia  pro  Carolo  I.  drew  such  a  crushing  and  terrible 
reply  from  Milton  in  his  Defeiisio  pro  Populo  Anglicano  that  all 
Europe  was  amazed,  and  Salmasius  is  said  to  have  died  of  chagrin  — 
an  assertion  that  lacks  support. 

1.  5.     Aeneid,  X.  830. 

1.  32.  Notice  the  frequent  examples  in  the  next  few  pages  of 
Macaulay's  fondness  for  superlatives  and  sweeping  general  asser- 
tions, which  are  often  pure  rhetorical  exaggerations,  —  e.g.  "the  most 
frivolous  and  heartless  of  tyrants  "  (p.  48,  1.  34),  "  the  finest  army 
that  Europe  had  ever  seen"  (p.  51,  1.  15). 

1.  34.  Not  very  enthusiastic  praise.  "  It  was  not  thought  an 
ill  temperament,  and  was  then  generally  looked  upon  as  an  altera- 
tion fit  to  be  more  warrantably  made,  and  in  a  better  time." 
Clarendon,  History  of  the  Rebellion,  Bk.  XIV. 


8o  NOTES. 

Page  47. — 1.  12.  Bolivar  (1783-1830),  "the  Washington  of 
South  America,"  was  the  leader  of  that  country  in  her  struggle  with 
Spain  for  independence. 

Page  48. — 1.  13.  The  "Instrument  of  Government"  was  a 
kind  of  provisional  constitution  drawn  up  by  the  Council  of  State 
which  had  been  appointed  by  the  short-lived  Convention  which,  in 
1653,  succeeded  the  Long  Parliament.  (Green,  III.  p.  283.)  The 
"  Humble  Petition  "  was  addressed  by  the  army  to  Parliament  in 
1647,  after  the  close  of  the  war,  desiring  the  settlement  of  peace  and 
the  restoration  of  constitutional  forms  of  government,  and  proposing 
wide  reforms.     Green,  III.  252-253. 

Page  49.— 1.  14.     Cf.  I.  Corinthians,  XVI.  22. 

1.  16.  Belial  is  literally  'wicked  one,'  or  'worthless  one,'  and  is 
not  an  idol.  The  scriptural  '  sons  of  Belial '  is  no  more  than  '  chil- 
dren of  darkness.' 

Page  50. — 1.  10.  Dined  on  calves'  heads.  The  calf's  head 
was  used  by  the  anti-royalists  as  emblematic  of  Charles  I.  There 
was  a  Calves'  Head  Club,  which  dined  annually  on  the  thirtieth  of 
January  (the  anniversary  of  the  execution  of  the  king),  eating 
calves'  heads  and  toasting  the  regicides. 

1.  II.  Stiuk  up  oak  braftches.  Charles  II.  in  escaping  from 
England  had  at  one  time  been  concealed  for  some  hours  in  an  oak 
tree.  After  the  Restoration  the  oak  branch  became  a  symbol  of 
the  "  Merry  Monarch,"  as  he  was  called,  and  used  to  be  set  up  on 
the  twenty-ninth  of  May,  his  birth-day  and  the  anniversary  of  his 
entrance  into  London  on  his  return,  with  festivities  similar  to  those 
of  May-day. 

1,  19.     He  that  rtuis  may  read  them.     See  Habakkuk,  II.  2. 

Page  51. — 11.  8-1 1.  From  Tasso's  Ger.  Lib.  {Jerusalem  De- 
livered), XV.   57.     Hoole's  translation  is  as  follows  : 

"  Behold  the  fatal  spring  where  laughter  dwells, 
Dire  poison  lurking  in  its  secret  cells ; 
Here  let  us  guard  our  thoughts,  our  passions  rein. 
And  every  loose  desire  in  bonds  detain." 

1.  29.     In  the  play,  MercJiant  of  Ve7iice,  III.  2. 

Page  53.  —  1.  29.  Sir  Henry  Vane  the  younger  was  one  of 
the  Fifth-monarchy  men.     (See  note  on  p.  40,  1.  20.) 

1.  30.  Fleetwood,  Cromwell's  son-in-law  and  one  of  the  Parlia- 
mentary generals. 


NOTES.  8 1 

Page  54.  —  1.  21.  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene^  V.  I.  14.  Sir 
Artegal  typifies  Justice. 

1.  34.  Dtcnstan,  St.  (925-988),  an  Anglo-Saxon  ecclesiastic, 
enforced  a  strict  monastic  discipline  and  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy. 
De  Montfort  {1150-121S),  father  of  the  English  noble  of  that  name, 
one  of  the  leaders  in  the  persecution  of  the  Albigenses  in  France. 
Dominic,  St.  (1170-1221),  founder  of  the  Dominicans;  a  zealous 
and  austere  churchman.  Escobar  (i  589-1669),  a  Spanish  Jesuit, 
whose  system  of  casuistry  was  severely  criticised.  He  thus  becomes 
the  type  of  those  who  reason  to  prove  that  wrong  is  right. 

Page  55.  —  1.  n.  Doubting  Thomases,  ]ohny^K.2^-2g.  Care- 
less Gallios,  Acts  XVIII.  17. 

1.  17.  Brissotines,  the  moderate  republicans  of  the  early  days  of 
the  Revolution,  so  called  from  their  leader  Brissot ;  better  known 
by  their  later  name  of  Girondists. 

1.  27.  Whitefriars,  a  precinct  of  London,  so  called  from  an  old 
church  of  the  Carmelites,  or  '  White  Friars.'  Debtors  were  there 
exempt  from  arrest,  and  in  consequence  it  became  the  shelter  of 
criminals  and  desperate  characters  of  every  description,  within 
which  no  officer  of  the  law  dared  to  venture.  See  Macaulay's 
History,  Chap.  III. 

Page  ^Q.  —  1.  16.     Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  I.  II. 

Page  57.  —  1-  6.  Conventicle,  Gothic  cloister,  used  by  meton- 
ymy for  Dissenters  and  Episcopalians.  An  illustration  of  Macau- 
lay's  concreteness. 

I.  13,  SUghtly  changed  from  the  last  line  of  Milton's  Sonnet 
II. 

!•  33-  "^^^^  Hero  of  Horner,  Odysseus.  See  Gayley's  Classic 
Myths,  pp.  318-321. 

Page  58.  —  1.  10.     II  Fenseroso,\\.  155-166. 

1    18 

"  For  naught  I  did  in  hate,  but  all  in  honor." 

Othello,  V.  2. 

The  simile  would  be  more  effective  if  we  were  not  compelled  to 
remember  first  of  all  that  Othello  was  the  dupe  of  lago,  and  that 
Desdemona  was  wrongfully  slain. 

1.  33.  Milton's  Areopagitica  was  a  noble  and  eloquent  plea  for 
liberty  of  the  press.  It  was  addressed  to  the  Long  Parliament  in 
1644,  in  opposition  to  an  ordinance  prohibiting  the  printing  of  any 
work  without  an  official  license. 

Page  59.  — II.  i4-i8»     Co7nus,Z\^-%\C). 


82  NOTES. 

1.  30.     Presbyterian  Wolf,  — 

"  Help  us  to  save  free  Conscience  from  the  paw 
Of  hireling  wolves,  whose  Gospel  is  their  maw." 

Sonnet  XVI.  ( To  Cromwell). 

1.  32.  As  a  sign  upon  his  hand  and  as  frontlets  between  his  eyes. 
See  Ex.  XIII.  9  ;  Deut.  VI.  8. 

Page  60.  —11.  28-29.    Ovid's  Met.  II.  72.    Phoebus  to  Phaethon. 

Page  61.  —  1.  2.  Field  of  cloth  of  gold ;  from  what  historical 
event  does  this  phrase  come } 

1.  8.  From  The  Reason  of  Church  Government  U7ged  agaijist 
Prelacy,  Bk.  II.;  one  of  his  five  anti-episcopal  pamphlets.  To  the 
same  group  belong  the  Treatise  of  Reformation  and  the  Anitnadver- 
sions  on  the  Remonstrant,  mentioned  below. 

1.  13.  After  the  execution  of  Charles  a  book  entitled  Eikon 
Basilike  {i.e.  Royal  Image)  appeared,  pretending  to  be  the  king's 
meditations  and  prayers.  Milton's  Eikonoklastes  (Image-Breaker) 
constituted  the  reply  of  the  Commonwealth. 

Page  62.  —  1.  17.  BoswelHsm.  James  Boswell,  Johnson's 
biographer,  fairly  worshiped  his  master. 

1.  28.  The  Virgin  Martyr.  One  of  Massinger's  (i  584-1639) 
plays. 


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